In a Hail of Bullets
by Toringtino
Summary: I rode in a gang, who left me to die after I'd been shot. I left the gang after the gang left me; settled down when I found the life I'd always been searching for. I tried to go straight, I did… And then they took my family. So now, I'm goin' to take my time and go after them the less kind way. It's gonna be a bloody job, but luckily I don't know any other kind. GrimmIchi AU Yaoi
1. Lucky in Love

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Bleach. Nor do I own the awesomeness that is Rockstar's 'Red Dead Redemption'. I do, however, own the beautiful pictures my inner mind conjures up of Bleach characters in spurs and chaps. Mmm.**

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><p>Prologue<p>

_'Lucky in Love'_

_**The American Old West, 1911**_

The sun was gradually making its ascent into the sky, its rays slowly peaking over the hill to the east, casting a pinky, orange glow over the vast land situated within and around Beecher's Hope. The land consisted of a decent sized house, a corn silo for the harvest, a barn for tack and storage, stables for the horses, an outdoor dining area for use when the weather proved too hot to eat indoors, and a small corral for the cattle when they weren't out to pasture.

The house was built with sturdy wood and had a formally decorated interior, with space enough for an open living and dining room, a stone fireplace, a small but workable kitchen, and three bedrooms. The first bedroom held a single bed for its one occupant, along with a hand crafted chest of drawers and desk, the top of which was cluttered with various reading material. The spare bedroom wasn't much of anything, with a rickety old bed sitting amongst a whole heap of timeless junk, the small, untenanted space being primarily used for storage. The master bedroom was the largest of the three by far, complete with a sizeable double bed, small fireplace, drawers big enough to fit two peoples worth of clothing, and a wooden cabinet acting as an armoury for the more dangerous rifles and repeaters the household owned.

When one Grimmjow Jaegerjaques began to rouse, it was within that very room. Groaning, the powerfully built man cracked open one sleep-hazed eye, a stunning cerulean blue iris just barely visible through the thick lashes trying to protect it from the early morning light spilling over his form.

"Fuckin' sun…" he groused, yanking the heavy quilt that had bunched around his middle up over his head.

An amused chuckle had Grimmjow frowning within the dark space he'd created, and he reluctantly drew the covers back once more to glare at the one openly mocking him. Bright orange tresses, sitting in an unruly mess of spikes, and shining ochre eyes bombarded Grimmjow's vision in the best kind of way.

"Still not a morning person, I see," the other stated in a honeyed baritone, a small grin curling his pink lips.

Grimmjow, slightly more awake now than he was even a few seconds ago, couldn't stop his eyes from roving over the younger man as he lay beside him. _Ichigo Kurosaki_. The man was twenty-two, a whole six years Grimmjow's junior, and just about the most beautiful thing on two legs the older man had ever seen. He was temperamental, tending to get quite tetchy and/or angry over the smallest of things, but Grimmjow didn't mind that, not one bit. If anything, it seemed to compliment his own volatile and usually hot-blooded personality just fine.

"The hell're ya doin' up, Kurosaki?" Grimmjow inquired, his voice thick with sleep and rough from disuse.

Ichigo scowled at the lack of the use of his first name, but decided not to comment on it. Honestly, there was absolutely no point in doing so. "We've been together how long, Grimmjow, and you still can't seem to remember that I always wake at sunrise?"

As of now, Ichigo was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows as he gazed right over Grimmjow and out the large window beyond. His chin was pillowed in his right palm, his striking eyes glittering and that luminous hair practically glowing as the sunlight caressed her rays through the strands. The bed sheets had pooled low on his back, stopping a teasing length from the curve of his ass and giving Grimmjow a tempting view of a lean, muscular defined torso covered in delectable, peachy skin.

Grimmjow licked his lips as images of just what that sinful little body could do, of the positions it could _bend into_, flooded his brain. A low rumble reverberating in the older man's chest was all the warning Ichigo got before a large, work callused hand was snaking down the curvature of his spine, heading straight for the area the bed covers were concealing from view. Both men were as naked as the day they were born, thanks to their steamy 'session' the previous night - and Grimmjow couldn't be happier for the fact.

"Heh. If yer havin' trouble sleepin', ya should'a woke me sooner," he leered as his hand crept ever lower. "I could always fuck ya back to sleep, or, dependin' on just how horny ya are, into a coma if ya'd prefer?"

Ichigo could only roll his eyes. He'd known Grimmjow for little under a year now, but had managed to figure the man out within the first week of their meeting.

Under normal circumstances, Grimmjow was horribly difficult to peg. He could be all laughs, sexual innuendos and wolfish grins one minute, and the next you could expect to find him holding the barrel of his trusty pistol to the temple of any poor sod that just happened to cross his path the wrong way. His anger was explosive, attached to a very short fuse, and his triggers were many, but luckily Ichigo knew just how to placate the unbridled man. Little things, such as gentle touches or calm words whispered into his ear could work a treat if applied in just the right way – but, undeniably, a good fuck was the quickest and most sure-fire method of subduing the man's brutish temper.

As Ichigo gazed at him now, he couldn't deny that he didn't at all mind if the man used him like some sort of sex stress toy, or that he seemed to have a frankly _monstrous_ libido, for Grimmjow Jaegerjaques was indisputably the sexiest man on the face of the planet. Bar none. He was what Ichigo would describe as 'ruggedly handsome', with rough lines etched into sun-kissed flesh, a prominent jaw, corded muscles wrapped around 6'2" worth of body, and a deep, husky voice.

Ichigo loved just about every aspect of the man laying next to him, but, without a shadow of a doubt, his two favourite features by far were his eyes and hair. Those stunning, aquamarine orbs that captivated him with such ease it should be criminal, and surreal electric teal locks that sat in a disobedient mess of spikes at the back, longer tresses at the nape of his neck and around his ears, and a few unruly strands that fell down in the middle of his forehead. The older man looked like he'd only just dragged himself out of bed at any given time of the day.

Ichigo had always loved that unnatural – yet completely 'home grown' – hair of his. It made him feel a little better about sporting his own 'unique' variant of redhead.

Grimmjow grinned when he noticed the younger man trying to discreetly check him out. "Interestin'. I didn't hear ya say 'no' to my little proposition…"

Ichigo bit his lip when Grimmjow suddenly sat up, the taut, powerful muscles of his abdomen and back rippling in all the right ways to make Ichigo's heartbeat pick up the pace. He cocked a slender, orange tinted brow when a tanned hand appeared in front of his face, and gazed up to find burning, noticeably darker cerulean pools staring right back at him.

"C'mere, Berry."

Ichigo shivered at the low, husky tone of the other, and slipped his hand into the proffered one with no further hesitation. Grimmjow smirked and yanked Ichigo forward until he was situated in his lap, those peachy thighs parted and straddling over his hips. He simply chuckled when the kid objected to being 'manhandled', like he wasn't long since used to it by now.

"Oh, shut up already, will ya?" Grimmjow stated, brushing his lips over Ichigo's bare shoulder as his hands stroked down his sides.

Ichigo tried his best to hinder the breathy moan bubbling up in his chest as those large hands curled around his hips and began kneading his flesh, but it pushed through regardless.

Grimmjow grinned, laving his tongue over Ichigo's clavicle as a reward when long fingers delved into his mussed up blue locks and tugged in encouragement. Ichigo liked to play all innocent and coy, but Grimmjow knew better. He knew that behind closed doors he would be dealing with his very own sex-crazed kitten. The boy was a closet nymphomaniac – but luckily Grimmjow knew just how to draw the little tease out.

"Ah, Grimm!" Ichigo mewled when the blunette used sharp teeth to bite down on the sensitive flesh in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Grimmjow growled at the beautiful sound, his rapidly hardening cock giving a pleasurable throb. "That's it kitten…_purr_ for me."

Ichigo, unable to stand it any longer, took a hold of Grimmjow's face, titling his head up so that he could pull him into a searing kiss. The blunette immediately took control of the contact, and Ichigo relinquished it without a fight. He knew it was pointless to try for dominance against the older man. Not only did he have no chance of winning such a battle, but he'd also be made to pay the consequences for even attempting it in the first place.

Grimmjow hummed approvingly when rose petal soft lips opened up to him with little persuasion, and instantly took full advantage of the silent invitation by sweeping his tongue into the sweet, moist cavern of his lover's mouth. Groaning at the divine taste that was uniquely Ichigo, Grimmjow tightened his hold on slim hips and ground his pelvis up into the younger's.

Ichigo responded by tugging harshly on the silky stands surrounding his fingers, tearing a snarl from the blunette that vibrated through both their chests. The feral sound rocketed straight down Ichigo's spine and gave new life to his straining erection, causing him to moan into the kiss and subsequently roll his hips down to meet the other's.

Ichigo barely had time enough for a manly yelp before he found himself flat on his back, a ravenous looking Grimmjow hovering inches above him. Those striking blue eyes took their time to roam over his face, causing a warm blush to flare up on Ichigo's cheeks. Grimmjow gave a small smile at the reaction produced and slowly lowered his head, nuzzling his face into soft, orange spikes.

"Fuck, Ichigo," he hummed, taking a long inhale of the younger man's addictive scent. "Did I ever tell ya how beautiful ya're?"

Ichigo's blush deepened, and he pushed at the blunette's shoulders. "More than once, actually. And, if I remember correctly, I told you never to call me that again!"

Grimmjow, giving in to his lover's incessant shoving, drew back just far enough to gaze down at his struggling prey. He couldn't help but smirk. God how it turned him on when Ichigo got all flustered and embarrassed.

"Why don't ya want me callin' ya beautiful, kitten?"

"I already told you! It's too girly!" Ichigo snapped, his fists itching to be embedded in the smug face grinning maliciously down on him. "And stop calling me 'kitten', dammit!"

Grimmjow's smirk only broadened as his right hand traced up over firm pectorals, then on to a sinewy neck and strong jaw, until finally petting through orange tresses. "I think it suits ya just fine, Berry. But, if yer gonna get so bent outta shape about it, I could always call ya pretty, or cute, instead? Would ya like that, kitten?"

"Bastard," Ichigo growled, slapping Grimmjow's hand from his hair. "That's even worse!"

"Tch. Someone so beautiful shouldn't be so touchy…"

Ichigo could feel his lip curling and nostrils flaring at the older man's blatant disregard. "You fucking di–"

Guessing that he'd played with fire long enough, and being in no hurry to get too gravely burned, Grimmjow quickly dipped his head down, effectively swallowing up whatever the fiery redhead had been about to hit back at him with. He had the kid exactly where he wanted him anyway; all riled up and in keen fighting spirit. The two combined always proved for one minxy little kitten.

Grimmjow grinned satisfactorily when Ichigo returned his kiss almost feverishly, the orangette's teeth nipping at his lips as lean arms wrapped tight around his neck and long legs ensnared his waist. Grimmjow could feel his throbbing arousal dripping with need as Ichigo plunged his tongue into his mouth, rolling his hips up as he mapped out the familiar territory.

Grimmjow's body shuddered with barely contained anticipation.

_Fucking perfect_.

Returning the needy kiss with as much fervour as his orange haired lover, Grimmjow reached blindly for the bedside table, fumbling over the several items placed there before finally procuring what he sought.

With a small vial of unscented oil securely within his grasp, Grimmjow reluctantly pulled away from his pretty prey, only to feel his skin heating to uncomfortable proportions when he saw the state Ichigo was in. The kid's chest was heaving after having the air practically sucked from his lungs during their last kiss, his sparsely freckled cheeks glowing a delicious apple red, and those fucking gorgeous, ochre eyes were heavily hooded, a distinct 'come hither' look flashing through them that had Grimmjow's cock quivering with the desire to be inside him already.

Wasting no more time, Grimmjow uncorked the vial and poured a liberal amount of oil onto his fingers, desperately trying to ignore the wicked fingers trailing over his chest and the breathy, purring moans his Berry was letting slip past kiss bruised lips.

"Hurry up, Grimm," Ichigo murmured, grinning deviously when the blunette cursed as he flicked the pads of his thumbs across peaked nipples and gripped his thighs tighter around his waist. "Go any slower and I'll die from old age before you do, _old man_."

"Ya little shit," Grimmjow snarled, tossing the vial to the floor still uncorked. "Y'know, cheeky brats don't get what they want without askin' nice…"

A wanton moan tore itself from Ichigo's lungs when Grimmjow hungrily attacked his throat, worrying and sucking at the peachy flesh until he'd left his mark. Knowing his lover like he did, Ichigo felt confident that the already smarting love bite wouldn't fade for at least an entire day – _or three_ – but had little time to dwell on such a trivial matter when a slippery, sinful digit suddenly fingered around his puckered entrance.

Ichigo moaned, throwing his head back and latching blunt nails into Grimmjow's tanned back as he dropped his hips, trying frantically to take the teasing digit inside him. He heard Grimmjow snicker and snapped his head forward to glare at the haughty bastard.

"The hell are you waiting for?" Ichigo snapped, his words losing a lot of their edge due to the breathlessness of his voice.

Grimmjow merely smirked, showcasing strong, pointed canines. "For you to apologise, my lil' Berry."

Ichigo threw his head back into the pillows, a frustrated groan spilling from his lips. "Ugh, Grimm, _come on_…please…"

Deciding to up the ante, Grimmjow let his index finger dip into the beckoning warmth of Ichigo's twitching hole, revelling in the heady mewl the sly action produced. He quickly drew it back out when Ichigo clenched, trying to suck it in even further.

"Nuh uh, kitten," Grimmjow cooed cruelly, his tongue flicking out to lap sensually over the younger man's pulse point. "That's yer lot until I hear those two, little words…"

"What, arrogant dickhead?" Ichigo retorted, his fingers sinking into blue locks to yank impatiently.

Grimmjow snarled, both at the words and the action. He could feel his willpower rapidly dissolving, and could only hope that Ichigo's resolve would break before his did. He really did _loath_ to lose. But apparently it was his lucky day, and all of that merciless teasing had the desired effect when lust darkened, chocolate orbs locked with his own and Ichigo gave an aggravated sigh of defeat.

"Christ, _fine_…I'm sorry, Grimmjow, you're not old at all. In fact, you're the youngest man I know." Grimmjow rolled his eyes at the orangette's snide comment, and was tempted to verbally reprimand the brat, but all words escaped his vocabulary when lean arms curled tighter around his neck, Ichigo using the leverage to pull his mouth close to his ear. "_Fuck me_, Grimm. Grind me so hard into the mattress that I forget who I am…"

Grimmjow didn't know whether to laugh or growl. "Shit. As ya wish, kitten."

Before Ichigo could further protest the reviled nickname, Grimmjow pushed not one, but two fingers inside him. It wasn't much of a surprise, both because they went at like hormonal teenagers more than often enough, and also because Grimmjow never had been very patient. Ichigo was seriously surprised that the blunette didn't crack at his stupid little game before he did. He'd just have to think of a way to get him back later.

Grimmjow bent to capture Ichigo's lips in a sweet but heated kiss as he hastily added a third finger, caught between the insane need to have his rock-hard member buried balls deep in that seductive warmth, and the want to be considerate and prepare his lover thoroughly. Or at least enough that his work wouldn't be too badly hindered that day.

Even though it did such wonderful things to Grimmjow's ego to see the kid stumble around with a slight limp to his step, there really was nothing worse than a bitching Berry with a chip on his shoulder.

Ichigo's breathy little mewls of pleasure were quickly turning to heady moans of encouragement – or rather, _command_.

"Oh _god_, Grimm…har-_nnghn_, fuck! Harder, please!"

"Shit, Ichigo," Grimmjow growled close to his ear, biting down hard on the lobe as he thrust and curled his fingers deeper into the moist heat clenching around him. "Just look at'cha, kitten, all flushed and purrin' my name like a two dollar whore. Say it, Ichigo. Tell me how much ya love me fingerin' that tight, lil' hole a'yers."

Ichigo, in spite of the overly intimate situation he currently found himself in, could feel a flaming scarlet blush settling over his face and the tips of his ears. His teal haired lover absolutely adored to humiliate the fuck right out of him on a daily basis, and the morbid fascination certainly didn't exclude the bedroom. Hence Grimmjow was rather keen on the dirty talk, endeavouring time and time again to drag the orange haired male into the raunchy conversations as well – just to embarrass him further, no doubt.

Ichigo tossed his head from side to side, his toes curling in the bed sheets as those sinful fingers stroked and probed inside of him. He tried to clear his lust fogged brain enough to form coherent sentences, but the task proved absurdly difficult, especially when one long digit found _that_ spot.

"Ah, yes! Grimmjow!" Ichigo keened, the darkness behind his closed eyelids momentarily flashing a brilliant white.

_Bullseye_, Grimmjow crowed inwardly, watching with hungry eyes as Ichigo's back arched up from the bed, the sweat slicked skin rubbing heatedly against his own.

"As much as I love hearin' ya scream out my name like that, it wasn't what I wanted to hear." Curling his free arm under the orangette's back to keep it arched, Grimmjow licked a hot, wet trail from Ichigo's navel right up to the tip of his chin. "C'mon, kitten, lemme hear how much ya want me, how much ya _need_ me, and I'll give ya somethin' _much bigger_ to satisfy yer appetite…"

Just to further his point, Grimmjow purposefully rubbed a finger hard against the younger's prostate, ripping a loud, unbridled moan from the pit of his lungs. The sound alone had Grimmjow fighting back an animalistic snarl and resisting the sudden urge to come on the spot.

Ichigo, having abandoned his stubborn pride without a second thought after his prostate was so brutally assaulted, wrapped long, athletic legs around the blunette's waist and pulled him close, the forceful grind of their straining erections enough to tear a needy groan from the both of them.

He couldn't stand it anymore, he was too consumed by desire and had sacrificed too much blood to fuel his demanding arousal to care about something as inconsequential as embarrassment. He'd worry about that later, when his blood supply was back in the right head again.

"Please, Grimm baby," Ichigo murmured seductively, drooping his eyelids to half mast as he gazed lustily up at his lover. "I need you so bad right now. I wanna feel your long, hard cock slamming in and out of me, to feel it fill me up so good I can practically _taste_ it." Ichigo raked his fingernails down over Grimmjow's brawny back at the same time he rocked his hips upwards, smirking at the sexy hiss the blunette gave in response. "Mmm, Grimmjow, please…fuck me _hard_, like only you know how, and do it _now_…"

That was it. The sweet, honeyed tone of his voice, coupled with a slick body caressing him in all the right places and dark, chocolate eyes blazing through to his very core, Grimmjow felt his control snap like a string on a guitar that had been stretched beyond its limit.

Deftly removing his fingers, Grimmjow hurriedly slathered what was left of the oil on his damn near _painful_ erection and, within fucking milliseconds, had successfully impaled the beautiful orangette. He was immediately blinded by his most carnal desires when that velvety heat encased around him, the walls spasming at the obviously uncomfortable invasion, yet at the same time seemingly sucking him in deeper and welcoming him back with a familiar warmth.

Ichigo was in two minds, one screaming at the painful intrusion as Grimmjow got himself fully seated, and the other picking out the streaks – albeit _diminutive_ ones – of delirious pleasure the blunette's cock was stoking within him.

"How ya doin' down there, Berry?" Grimmjow asked, his voiced tense with restricted bliss.

Ichigo circled his arms around Grimmjow's neck, his fingers sinking into silky strands as he pulled the man close. "Just sh-shut up and move already…old-timer."

Knowing that that comment would be more than enough to provoke a reaction, Ichigo quickly yanked on the teal tresses between his fingers and sealed his lips over his lover's.

_Fuckin' __mouthy brat_, Grimmjow growled to himself, sweeping his tongue into the orangette's open and pliant mouth at the exact same time he surged forward into his open and pliant body. Grimmjow had half a mind to intentionally miss the damn kid's pleasure button for the snarky little insult, but, admittedly, he cared for the wee fucker too much to deliberately torture him like that.

Seeking _some_ _kind_ of retribution however, Grimmjow sank his teeth deep into the soft, flawless flesh of Ichigo's shoulder. Ichigo cried out at the action, his walls clamping down around the blunette's length as he tugged harder at tousled teal locks.

Grimmjow groaned lowly at the twin sensations and gave a powerful snap of his hips in reward, nearly driving the younger man's head into the carved, wooden headboard.

"Shit, _hnn_, Grimmjow!" Ichigo keened, his eyelids fluttering closed as he buried his face into Grimmjow's neck, delighting in the rich, earthy musk of his lover as he pounded into him. "_Ngn_, yesss…_haa_-harder, Grimm baby! I can still remember my name…"

"Tch, yer never satisfied, are ya kitten?"

Holding his hips steady with his left hand, Grimmjow used his right arm to hook under Ichigo's knee, lifting it up and pushing it towards his chest so he could ram himself in even deeper. His pretty, orange haired lover mewled so deliciously at the new position, though the sound Grimmjow _really_ wanted to hear came only after he had angled his thrust in just the right way. He could feel his cock pulsing from inside the younger man when he struck his prostate, Ichigo letting out a vociferous cry of ecstasy that almost sounded like a pleading whine.

"Fuck, Ichigo," Grimmjow purred, his sharp teeth nipping at Ichigo's jaw as he drove his hips hard and fast into that moist heat. "D'ya have any idea…just how fuckin' sexy…ya sound right now?"

Grimmjow watched, rapt with an all consuming lust as Ichigo struggled to even _breathe_ properly, let alone attempt to speak. He could tell the kid was close, could feel those velvet walls gripping him tighter and tighter along with the legs around his waist and arms around his neck. To be honest, he wasn't doing much better. He could feel his balls tightening to almost uncomfortable levels, and his precision aimed thrusts becoming erratic, a lot less accurate.

Ichigo couldn't hold it back any longer, and one last brutal strike to his sweet spot had him arching his back and neck, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his fingers and toes curled. He released hard and fast across both his own and Grimmjow's abdomen, a wanton cry of his lover's name – along with the milky substance now staining their bodies – signalling that he was well and truly spent.

Grimmjow laved his tongue across Ichigo's Adam's apple when it was offered to him, sucking hard on the peachy skin as the younger man reached his orgasm and seemed intent on dragging him along for the dizzying ride. Grimmjow's own completion crested to an amazing high when Ichigo's channel fixed down around him, hugging his length _so nice_, before the wave crashed down around him, forcing his hips to surge forward so that he could bury himself deep within his Berry as he came.

Ichigo hummed at the familiar, yet no less weird for the fact, sensation of the blunette's hot seed filling him up. He could see Grimmjow's arms buckling under his suddenly depleted energy, and got no further warning before the larger man crash landed right on top of him.

"Christ, Grimm," Ichigo grunted, shoving roughly at his shoulders. "Get your fat ass off me! I can barely breathe here!"

Grimmjow snorted, reluctantly drawing back so that he could pull out of the now abused hole of the younger and collapse down beside him instead. He gave a small grin when his nose was assaulted by the potent mixture of carnal sex and hard earned sweat; it was, without a doubt, his favourite combination.

Wrapping a hand around Ichigo's bicep, he pulled the young man's back flush against his broad chest, nuzzling his nose into bright, sweaty tresses in order to get a better taste of the delicious scent enveloping them. Ichigo sighed pleasantly, enjoying the somewhat rare affectionate attention.

"So, how d'ya feel now, kitten?" Grimmjow hummed, his left arm curling under Ichigo's neck as the other draped lazily over a slender waist. "Feel tired enough to sleep? Or d'ya wanna wait ten minutes and give it another bash?"

Ichigo could only chuckle, though it was one of exasperation. "And you say _I'm_ never satisfied…"

"So…" Grimmjow started, his right index finger tracing idle patterns over the defined stomach of his young lover. "That a 'yay' or 'nay' to the proposal?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he tilted his head back, locking shining ochre with piercing cerulean. "Shut up and sleep, idiot."

Grimmjow scoffed but conceded, figuring he could do with a few more hours before he started his laborious day anyway. Capturing Ichigo's chin, he pulled him in for a brief but loving kiss, their tongues rubbing and twisting sensually but with no real heat to it. When he drew back, Grimmjow couldn't resist the urge to kiss the tip of the kid's shapely nose as well – whether it was supposed to be a spontaneous, tender action, or simply to piss the younger man off, he wasn't quite sure.

Ichigo felt his cheeks flush pink at the unexpected act, unsure of how to react. Luckily his teal haired lover sorted that problem out for him by fisting a callused hand in his luminous spikes and yanking his head back down to the pillows. Ichigo turned his head to scowl at the man, but his eyes were already closed.

"Sleep, Kurosaki," Grimmjow commanded. "We have about an hour, two at best, before the other brat gets up and starts making my life a livin' hell. So I suggest we get some shut-eye whilst we still can, ne?"

Ichigo was going to scold the brute for using such cruel words against the youngest member of their 'family', but thought better of it, knowing that the blunette was right for once. Okay, so Ichigo wouldn't have worded it quite like _that_, but still, they had precious little time left to enjoy each other's company alone. He wasn't going to waste that – _especially_ if it involved an activity where the boorish blunette wasn't running his mouth off.

Shoving hard at Grimmjow's shoulder, Ichigo forced him to sprawl out on his back. He ignored the blunette's grumbles and complaints as he settled himself down on the man's sturdy chest, tenderly fingering the long scar running down the older man's torso. He let out a content, breathy sigh as Grimmjow wrapped his left arm around his back, those talented fingers ghosting up and down his spine.

A soft, doting kiss was placed upon Ichigo's forehead, accompanied shortly after by a quiet murmuring of, "Love ya, kid."

Ichigo gave a genuine smile, pressing an amorous kiss to his lover's chest. "Yeah, I know."

Grimmjow held back for a brief minute, before his lip curled and a low rumble reverberated through his chest in clear admonishment. Ichigo chuckled at the overly petulant – yet completely predictable – reaction from his ill-tempered counterpart.

"I love you too, Grimmjow."

"Damn straight ya do…" Grimmjow smirked, giving one, sharp tug to the younger's hair. "…_brat_."

Refusing to be goaded into a petty argument when his limbs were so weary and his eyelids so heavy, Ichigo let that one slide…this time. Instead, he nestled down into Grimmjow's chest, allowing the blunette's wonderful scent to fill his senses and the strong fingers stroking across his skin to lull him back into the depths of a peaceful slumber.

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><p><strong>AN: Ciao, Bellas~**

**Am back. Eep. First of all, to those of you who are currently reading 'Unobtainable', I haven't abandoned it. Not at all. In fact, I'm currently on page 17 of chapter 7 - yikes, I know - so it will be out very soon. I promise. I wouldn't let any of yah's down by leaving it like that.**

**This fic has been plaguing me fer _weeks_ because I went and got myself addicted to Red Dead Redemption. _Again_. So yosh, anyone who is familiar with the game will realise that this story is going to be very much based on John Marston's life - though obviously with my own interpretations and twists, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun, ne? It will prove a sufficient distraction so that I don't get too frazzled/exhausted when thinking up plot for Unobtainable.**

**Or at least that's the plan. Ugh. Let's just see how we go, yeah?**

**Hope yah's enjoy~**

**Ciao**

**Toringtino~**


	2. Wild Horses, Tamed Passions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, or Red Dead Redemption. However, both are so unbelievably awesome, that it makes me wish that I did.**

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><p>Chapter One<p>

_'Wild Horses, Tamed Passions'_

Grimmjow and Ichigo were woken not forty minutes later, and by the deafening ring of a gunshot of all things. Grimmjow sat bolt upright in bed as soon as he heard it, his heart hammering and his eyes wide. He knew that distinctive sound, could place it _anywhere_.

"Shit," he cursed as he threw the bed covers back and scrambled off the bed, away from the comforting warmth of his Berry.

Ichigo, who had heard the loud shot but was unable to identify it for what it was due to his sleep plagued brain, was fully roused when Grimmjow more or less hurled him from his chest in his haste to get up. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes with the heel of his hand, watching as the blunette threw on a pair of plain white leggings he normally used for sleeping in.

"Grimm? What's up? Why are you–"

He was cut off mid sentence when another round was fired off, his own heart instantly leaping into his throat as he found his body on sudden full alert. He turned panic-stricken ochre on blazing cerulean.

"Grimmjow…?"

"Grab the kid an' hide out in the attic," Grimmjow instructed as he hunkered down to rummage through the small, oak chest beside their drawers. Procuring his most lethal pistol - a .32 1903 Colt Model - he instinctively checked the magazine and, upon finding it adequately loaded, cocked it. Keeping himself hidden from plain view, he made a quick sweep of their land from the bedroom window, before glancing over at his shell-shocked lover still frozen on their bed. "Come on, Ichigo, now's not the time to turn chickenshit. Jus' remember to stay low an' you'll be fine."

Ichigo's heart was beating a mile a minute, and he briefly wondered how he hadn't slipped into cardiac arrest yet. Sometimes he envied Grimmjow for the experience he had gained through his life of debauchery and sin, especially when it came to situations like this one. Ichigo had lived a fairly moderate life before he met the gunslinging blunette. He grew up in a moderate home, with a moderate family and moderate amounts of danger. It _was_ the west, so encountering gangs of ruthless bandits and swindling thieves who'd step over their own grandmother for a gold coin was reasonably commonplace – but that didn't mean Ichigo was exactly _used_ to being in such perilous situations.

The younger man knew all about Grimmjow's past; about where he'd come from, how he was raised, and even the immoral felonies he'd committed just to stay alive another day. Hence it was no real surprise to find the older man so calm and collected under such circumstances, the kind where life and death hung precariously above your head with absolutely no way of knowing which one would befall you when all was said and done.

Ichigo hated those moments. That's not to say that he was in any way a coward, fuck no. He was as adept as the next man when it came to defending his own or handling a weapon, and, thanks in large to his blue haired lover, he'd only gotten more proficient. The blunette had taught him skills and techniques that no one else could even hope to compare with, and it was all thanks to that cutthroat upbringing of his. Grimmjow had been forced to grow up fast, to learn from a very young age that, in this dog-eat-dog world, it was either kill…or be killed.

"Ichigo!" Said man snapped out of his trance at the mention of his name, glancing up to the one who had barked it out. Grimmjow levelled a stern gaze on him. "Hurry up an' get movin', stupid! I can't concentrate properly until I know yer safe!"

"R-Right," Ichigo stammered, hurriedly clambering from the bed. Donning a pair of work battered denim pants that had been discarded on the floor, he made his way over to Grimmjow who was waiting by the bedroom door.

"I can't see anyone out there," Grimmjow said evenly, though didn't lower his guard by even a fraction. "Wait 'til I get outside before ya make yer move. At least that way I can provide a distraction so that you an' the kid can move freely."

Ichigo nodded, more than willing to just do as he was told. "Okay. Be careful, Grimm."

Grimmjow let a playful smirk curl his lips, dipping to press his lips softly to the other's. "Ain't I always, Berry?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Ichigo retorted, his icy scowl speaking volumes for his assurance in such a statement.

"Ye of so little faith," Grimmjow scoffed, flicking him on the forehead with his free hand. He chose to ignore the warning growl the younger gave off. "Jus' get ready to move, kitten. Oh, an' don't go doin' anythin' stupid. I know what yer like, Mr. _Heroic_…"

Ichigo tried to protest the unnecessary abuse, but his words were promptly doused by rough lips in a final kiss - and then Grimmjow was gone. There were no further words of farewell, or even love, but Ichigo wasn't worried. Grimmjow was an excellent marksman, and none too shabby when left with his own two fists as his only means of protection.

Besides all that, the blue haired bastard was far too stubborn, took too much pleasure in torturing him daily, to simply roll over and _die_, so there was really no need for concern. Ichigo had his priorities, and it certainly wasn't wasting time or energy on a man that was more than capable of looking after himself. He had to get their little girl to safety; she was the only one that mattered right now, who took precedence over even his own life.

Ichigo chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek – a stupid habit he'd inherited from his goofball father – as he watched the door swing shut after his lover. Contrary to what the blunette had claimed, Ichigo had more than enough faith in him. He knew the man would come back, just like he always did.

Grimmjow squinted against the harsh, golden rays of the sun, suddenly wishing he'd at least remembered to grab his hat. He hated being at any sort of disadvantage, especially when he didn't know who or even _what_ he was up against yet. He hated it even more so now that he had a family to look out for. He really didn't give a fuck what happened to him, as long as Ichigo and the other brat were safe.

He still remembered the days when he only ever had to worry about covering his own ass, when he could ride into any given town and shoot the whole goddamn place up if he felt like it. The memories were as clear and fresh as if they'd happened just yesterday, and thinking about them _still_ made his lower back itch. But things were different now. He had two additional backs to protect.

He'd never thought himself the type, never, in a million fucking years, pictured himself as the kind to 'settle down' with a wife and kid. Heh. Ichigo would have a fucking hernia if he ever suspected that Grimmjow thought of him as his little woman. But, whether the younger man liked it or not, he was exactly that. Ichigo was the other half to his soul, and his little girl had taken up refuge in his heart. In his past life, he would've pushed his own comrades into the line of fire if it meant saving his own skin, and he wouldn't have batted an eyelid in doing so. But not anymore. Now he wouldn't hesitate for even a second to take a bullet in place of his lover. His daughter was obviously a given. She may drive him to complete distraction at least 24/7, but there wasn't a damn thing in the free world he wouldn't do for his little Apple.

Contrary to popular belief, Grimmjow was _not_ stupid; he knew that his past would someday find a way to come back and bite him on the ass. Hence it was his job, his _responsibility_, to safeguard his two loved ones from any such violence and corruption, and he'd do it with _everything_ he's got. No holds barred.

Pressing himself close to the wooden wall of the house, Grimmjow quietly stalked toward the back. There had been no sign of any life – human, at any rate – out the front when he'd checked, so the next logical choice was out back, where their land connected to the neighbouring forest of Tall Trees. Peering around the corner, he was again met with nothing more than a few frolicking rabbits and a scurrying rodent or two.

"Where the fuck is that mutt when ya need 'im," he grumbled to himself, surveying the area for the coal-black pelt of the damn animal. He rolled his eyes when he failed to locate it. "Fuckin' useless…"

Another piercing shot rang out, causing Grimmjow to duck back and press himself flat against the wall behind him. The position wasn't exactly ideal, left him too vulnerable and open to be considered efficient. His one saving grace, however, was that at least the shadow cast by the roof concealed his gaudy blue hair until he could make a break for better cover.

The gunfire was close, Grimmjow surmising it to have come from just beyond the crest of the grassy knoll behind his home. And so, with his eyes trained in that direction, he waited with bated breath for the _slightest_ indication of movement…

…_There_…

It was only a brief glimpse, but there was definitely someone moving through the brush.

Moving quickly but with tactical silence, a task made much easier with a lack of proper footwear, he picked his way up the hill, using the thick bark of the deciduous trees to hide his advancing figure.

Adrenaline was coursing thick and fast throughout his veins as he ascended higher, making his limbs buzz with anticipation and his fingers itch something fierce to squeeze tighter around the trigger of his Colt. Luckily, he had long ago trained his body to remain neutral under circumstances such as these. Fuck, he'd long since lost count of just how many shootouts he'd been involved in to date, but it was more than enough to keep his breathing level and his heart beating in a steady rhythm. Past were the days when his aim was compromised because his body was too sensitive.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the addictive rush of inexperience, but he'd gladly take an accurate shot over a dizzying high any day of the week.

His acute hearing picked up the subtle cracking of twigs under subsequent weight from somewhere not far behind him, maybe twenty feet or so, and felt his body acting accordingly.

Taking one last, deep breath to ensure his hand was steady, Grimmjow counted to five slowly in his head before springing out from behind his cover, his trusty pistol held in both hands straight out in front of him and his right index finger poised to unleash the deadly projectile at a split-seconds notice.

Upon seeing the 'assailant', however, Grimmjow could feel the giddying adrenaline sap from his body quicker than his morning piss, and promptly lowered his weapon.

Curling his lip and only just resisting the urge to curse out bloody murder, he made his way toward the still completely oblivious other. A startled yelp was given when he reached down to snatch the dangerous weapon from tiny clutches, which then turned into a cry of pain when a sharp smack upside the head was delivered once the rifle was securely obtained.

"Owie!" Beautiful wheaten eyes, teary from the unsuspecting blow, turned to face furious cerulean. "What was that for? It hurts~!"

"'Hurts' my ass! Yer lucky that's all ya got, ya damn pest!" Grimmjow snarled, sorely tempted to dish out further punishment. "What the hell were ya thinkin', comin' out here all alone? And with my fuckin' rifle of all things! Shit, Nels. Didn't I teach ya better than that? You could've taken off yer own goddamn arm with this thing!"

Grimmjow brandished the Springfield rifle in front of the little girl's face for further emphasis. Fuck he was _livid_. Not only that she had taken the damn thing in the first place, but for wandering off into the wilderness on her own – _again_. The fucking kid was going to give him heart attack before his next birthday, he just knew it.

The young girl, Nelliel Tu Jaegerjaques, was the end product of a young, overly horny Grimmjow and a wanton, cheaper-than-the-going-rate prostitute. She was his pride and joy, as well as the bane of his existence. With long, sea-foam green hair that tumbled down past her shoulders in wavy tresses, and big, shimmering eyes the colour of fresh wheat, she was a beautiful kid, no two ways about it. Grimmjow had no doubt that she would grow up to break a few dozen hearts, but, as she stood now in her red gingham dress, he saw her as little more than a bloody nuisance out to make him grey before his time. She may look as cute as a button and as innocent as an angel, but Grimmjow knew better, knew that she was just like every other woman he'd ever encountered; _a wolf in sheep's clothing._

Given the fact that she was a mere eight years of age, her inquisitive nature was pretty much at its peak, which meant that she just _had_ to get her nose into absolutely everything. Grimmjow had been oh so very tempted to tether her up in the corral on several different occasions, just to keep her ungodly curiosity at bay.

"But Pops!" Nelliel protested, her thin brows pulling into a petulant frown. "There was coyotes! I heard the chickens crying this morning, and when I looked out my window I saw the coyotes trying to catch them! So I went to save them!"

Grimmjow could feel a frankly _monstrous_ migraine coming on. "I don't give a flyin' fuck about what's tryin' to eat the damn chickens. They're just birds, for Christ's sake! Dammit kid, don't'cha know there's cougars and wolves and all kinds'a other things out there that would just love to taste little girl for breakfast? Do you _ever_ think of what yer doin' _before_ ya go and do it?"

"Of course I do," Nelliel stated like it was fact, crossing thin arms over her small chest. "I ain't dumb, Pa. And 'sides, I had Zan with me."

As if on cue, the aforementioned 'Zan', aka Zangetsu, came trotting over to the pair, sitting down obediently on Nelliel's right hand side. Grimmjow glared down at the beast as it leisurely licked at its paw, its burning eyes seemingly returning his stony gaze with interest.

The blunette sneered. He was still in two minds about the mongrel – or, if you want to be more specific, the fucking _wolf_. Its furry hide was as black as ink, and its eyes a piercing yellow that shone almost iridescently at night. There was many a night the older man had gotten up to relieve himself, only to get the fucking fright of his life when he saw those goddamn eyes watching him from afar. It creeped him the fuck out. From its general size and bulk, Grimmjow guessed the beast to be no more than a year old, and it was only getting bigger by the day.

Zangetsu tended to have a natural impulse to defend and protect his little girl, and whilst he was thankful enough for the fact, it was hardly surprising considering she was the one who saved the mutt's life.

They'd all been sat down to dinner one night several months ago, when raucous snarling interrupted them. Figuring some cocky predators had decided to have a go at his livestock, Grimmjow had armed himself with his bolt-action rifle and hurried outside. A few shots fired off into the air had the small pack of wolves turning tail and scarping, leaving their prey in the dust. Investigating the miserable heap, Grimmjow prodded what he then realised to be a young wolf pup with the toe of his boot. The pup gave a pathetic whimper, and Grimmjow huffed.

Raising his rifle, he'd aimed it straight for the little guy's rapidly beating chest. Yeah it was a shame to put to death something so small and defenceless, but that was life. Only, before he could take the shot, Nelliel came rushing out, demanding he spare the wretched thing. Grimmjow had protested, saying that it was a wild and rabid beast, that he was doing them all a favour by putting it out of it's misery. But of course, Nelliel just _had_ to go and start bawling, which in turn set Ichigo off, who started bitching _because_ Nelliel was bawling.

And so, in the end, he'd had no choice but to let the brat and his manipulative offspring have their way. With the pup's wounds, he'd been convinced he wouldn't even last the night anyway, so at the time he didn't much care.

Yeah, shows what he knows.

Ignoring the scrutinising stare from those creepy yellow eyes, Grimmjow turned his attention back to his little terror. "Zangetsu may be a wolf, but he's still a pup Nels. If I've told ya once, I've told ya too many times to count – ya don't wander off without me or Ichigo. Ya got that?"

"But I did come to get you, Pa! Honest!" Grimmjow cocked a brow, indicating the obvious flaw with that statement. Nelliel quickly averted her gaze, idly playing with a lock of her hair. "It's just…um…you and Itsy were, uh…doin' stuff, and I didn't want to make you mad by asking for help. Not after last time."

Grimmjow couldn't help himself; he threw his head back and burst out laughing. Shit, his Berry was going to blush all shades of red when he found out that Nelliel had caught them going at it yet again. In spite of taking it like a seasoned whore, Ichigo could be such a prude sometimes.

"Well, shit," Grimmjow started, having to suck in sharp breaths to quell his mirthful chuckling. "At least some of my lessons are gettin' through to ya, ne? Hey, do me a favour, Apple…"

"'Kay!" was the immediate, chirpy response, the young girl beaming at the use of the doting nickname.

Grimmjow smirked. He could say what he liked about the demon sprog, but she was a total daddy's girl, loyal through and through. It made his pride swell every damn time.

Playfully ruffling her long, silken tresses, he winked conspiratorially. "Don't tell Ichi what ya saw us doin' this mornin', yeah? I wanna be the one to tell 'im."

Nelliel giggled, batting his large hand away from her as she nodded in consent to her father's request. After all, she found it awful amusing to witness when her other father, or 'mommy' as Grimmjow encouraged her to call him, got all embarrassed and started turning pink. It was always funny!

"Grimmjow!"

All three heads whipped round to the source of the sudden call to find Ichigo, still bare chested and looking horribly flustered, clambering up the knoll toward them.

"Heh. Speak of the devil," Grimmjow mumbled, watching with hungry eyes as his lover's lithe body and luminous hair drew closer.

Ichigo on the other hand was going out of his fucking mind with worry. He'd searched their home high and low for Nelliel, but god help him, he couldn't find hide nor hair of her anywhere!

"Grimmjow!" he called again, his heart thrumming like a pneumatic drill against his ribs.

Seeing a flash of brilliant blue within the thicket of trees, he immediately made his way over, paying no heed to the sharp stones and bramble cutting into the soles of his feet.

"Grimmjow, I can't find Nel! I looked everywhere, but she's gone! I even tried out in the barn, and the pen, and–" Ichigo trailed off when he caught sight of sea-foam green locks and shining wheaten eyes peeking out from behind Grimmjow's leg. "…and she's right here with you. Well…shit."

Ichigo sighed and rested his hands on his knees, the cold sense of dread that had consumed his being not ten seconds ago quickly draining out of him, leaving him flushed and completely breathless.

Grimmjow could only shake his head in sympathy. The poor Berry cared for his little girl as much as he did, as if she were the fruit of his own loins. So naturally, the younger male became seriously frantic and irrational when her safety was in any way compromised. He knew Ichigo would do anything for the tyke, and, even though he did bitch and complain half the time whilst doing it, it was plain to see that he loved her unconditionally.

Glancing down at the cowering girl, Grimmjow scoffed. "Oi. Ya needn't hide behind me, doll." Using the butt of the rifle, he pushed her forward. "Ya got somethin' ya wanna say to Ichi?"

There was a brief moment of silence, where Ichigo looked up into rueful doe eyes, and Nelliel chewed pensively on her bottom lip. Grimmjow grumbled. He knew _exactly_ where this was headed.

It took precisely three seconds before Nelliel let out a wail and threw herself into the orange haired male, to which Ichigo responded by wrapping lean arms around her petite form to hug her close to his chest.

"I'm sorry for making you worry, Itsy!" Nelliel cried, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. "I was just trying to save the chickens!"

"Chickens?" Ichigo queried, looking to Grimmjow for an explanation. Grimmjow simply rolled his eyes and shook his head, silently communicating that he would fill him in later. Ichigo nodded in understanding and gently placed Nelliel on her feet, tenderly brushing her bangs out of her eyes and rubbing the tear tracks on her cheeks away with the pads of his thumbs. "C'mon, Nel, stop crying. You're a big girl now, and big girls don't cry, right?"

Nelliel gave a loud sniffle, using the back of her sleeve to wipe at her nose. Both men cringed at the sight. "R-Right. I'mma big girl."

"Of course you are," Ichigo smiled, running his fingers through her long hair. "Big girls also know that it's dangerous to go out alone, _especially_ with guns. You're dad and I were very worried about you, y'know. You should always tell at least one of us where you're going, so that we can keep you safe. You're always our top priority."

Purposefully keeping mum about the fact that she had tried to tell one of her parent's where she was going, Nelliel merely nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, mommy."

Ichigo could feel his eye twitch at the loathed moniker, a dark scowl forming across his features when the blunette started chuckling. He shot Grimmjow a heated glare, knowing that it was all his fault he'd been pegged as the _mother_ in the first place, but the look did little to deter the sadistic bastard.

Keeping his voice as level as he could manage, Ichigo rose to his feet. "Please don't call me that, Nel. I'm not your mother, and you know that."

"But daddy says that it's okay!" Nelliel chirped, her little face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "He says that I should call you mommy all the time because it'll make you love me even more!"

Ichigo's ochre eyes narrowed dangerously on the smugly smirking blunette. He couldn't believe the asshole had the audacity to outright _lie_ to his own daughter, just to get a fucking rise out of him!

Actually, scratch that. He could very easily believe such a thing.

With his eyes still firmly set on the shit-stirring older man, Ichigo gently patted Nelliel's head. "Run on down to the house and play, Nels. I think daddy and I need to have a little…_chat_."

"Okay, Itsy! 'Mon Zan, I'll race ya to the bottom of the hill!"

Nelliel promptly took off, squealing happily as Zangetsu ran alongside her, the two quickly disappearing out of sight. Ichigo set his jaw as he advanced on the grinning jackass he called 'lover', choosing to pay no heed to the fact that the man had not one, but _two_ deadly weapons on his person. Fucker was going to pay.

"'Call him _mommy_, and he'll _love_ you more'? Are you fucking kidding me, Grimm? It took me long enough to get used to 'Itsygo', and now _this?_"

Grimmjow knew that being aroused when facing an exceptionally pissed off Berry wasn't exactly tactful of him, but _fuck_ if Ichigo didn't look downright sexy when he was angry.

"Aw, c'mon Berry, take a joke," he cooed, wondering if his pretty kitten wouldn't be up for getting nailed to the nearest tree. "The girl needs a mother figure in her life, and with all yer drama-queen like tendencies, I'd say ya fit the bill rather nicely."

"Why you–!"

Quickly abandoning both weapons, Grimmjow reached out and snagged Ichigo's wrist as soon as he was close enough, yanking him forward so that he slammed bodily into him.

"Calm down, kitten. Didn't I tell ya already that someone as beautiful as yerself shouldn't get so upset over silly things?"

"You're an asshole," Ichigo stated, struggling against the older man's powerful hold to no avail. "Dammit, Grimmjow! Let me go!"

Grimmjow chuckled, burying his face into bright orange spikes. "Mmn…no. I don't think a'will."

Ichigo fought against the strong arms encircling him for another long moment, before sighing irritably and giving up in his futile endeavour. Resting his forehead against the man's collarbone, he huffed out an aggravated "Dick", before reluctantly moulding himself into the forced embrace.

Grimmjow hummed in approval and laxed his grip, letting his right arm fall around a slim waist and his left curl around narrow shoulders. Pressing a soft kiss to the kid's temple, Grimmjow smirked.

"Oi, Kurosaki…"

"Hm?" Bright ochre gazed up into captivating cerulean, and Grimmjow couldn't resist the urge to steal a kiss from petal soft, pink lips.

"Wanna hear somethin' funny?" he asked when he drew back, grinning wolfishly down on his younger lover.

Ichigo arched a wary brow, immediately set on edge by the animated, almost devilish gleam to the older's eyes. "Is that a trick question? Because honestly, you and I have _very_ contrasting ideas on what 'funny' actually entails…"

Grimmjow deadpanned. Trust his Berry to give such a literal fucking answer. "Just shut up an' listen, brat."

Grimmjow pressed his lips close to Ichigo's ear, whispering his earlier discovery to the younger whilst trying desperately not to bust his gut laughing when the Berry tensed up in his arms and his face took on the reddened hue of his namesake.

Back at the house, Nelliel was sitting innocently on the front stoop, petting Zangetsu's furry ebony pelt as they quietly enjoyed the early morning sun, only to jump roughly three foot out of her skin when she heard the loud exclamation of; "SHE SAW WHAT!"

Just imagining the sight of her other father spluttering and blushing furiously had her rolling onto her back in a fit of giggles.

* * *

><p>Ichigo was still scowling come five o'clock that evening. To say that he was mortified that Nelliel had caught them in the 'act' for what had to have been at least the <em>tenth fucking time <em>was a grave understatement. Of course, Grimmjow thought that marring his daughter's purity was absolutely hilarious, as was the ensuing humiliation Ichigo felt for doing such an abhorrent thing. The prick.

Ichigo had told him that they were never having sex again, to which the blunette simply snorted and stated, "If I didn't need a piss so damn bad, ya'd already be wearin' them pants around yer ankles." before stalking off towards the house, leaving a thoroughly bewildered and profusely blushing Ichigo to wallow in his own shame.

As of now, Ichigo was in the kitchen, dressed casually in tan canvas pants, one of Grimmjow's pale blue shirts and a pair of dark brown boots. He was fixing a simple vegetable broth for dinner whilst Grimmjow tended to the horses and Nelliel played with Zangetsu out where her biological father could keep an eye on her.

Ichigo was by no means a master chef, or anything even close. No, that title was reserved for the likes of his younger sister, Yuzu. Now that girl could cook for fucking royalty. But, as it was, Ichigo was the only one in the household that even knew how to work a stove without either causing injury to oneself – Nelliel – or burning the whole damn house down – Grimmjow.

Gently simmering and stirring the contents within the large pot, Ichigo wasn't entirely surprised when his few moments of peace and tranquillity were suddenly shattered by an irate blunette. Though the random launching of a bridle, which clattered across the table before tumbling with a merry jangle to the floor, was _definitely_ new. Ichigo simply raised a brow, without once bothering to take his eyes off of the stove. He was more than used to this particular scenario by now.

"So…how'd it go?" he asked, trying not to sound as teasing as he felt like being. He knew this was an ongoing hot button issue with the blue haired male.

"_Uuurrgggh!_ That fuckin' beast!" Grimmjow raged, balling his hands into tight fists. "I swear to god, Ichi, am'a find that motherfucker that sold me that, that…_spawn of hell_, and am'a tear 'is fuckin' throat out with my bare hands!"

"Mm," Ichigo hummed, just to prove he was listening. Not that he needed to anymore. He'd heard this rant so many times that he could actually rhyme it off.

"If yer thinkin' of makin' stew again any time soon, then lemme know, 'cause I just so happen to have about eight hundred pounds worth'a horse meat out in the stables…"

Ichigo sighed, still not looking up. "You're not _cooking_ Pantera, Grimm."

"The hell I'm not!" Grimmjow retorted, sitting down heavily at the table. With a flick of the wrist he knocked his broad brimmed, dark leather cowboy hat from his head and ran his fingers through sweat dampened locks. Clad in full, black chaps, dark denim pants, an old, dark blue work shirt and heavy boots, the man was _sweltering_. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the first four buttons of his shirt long since undone, but it did little to help his predicament. "The only thing that animal is any _good_ for is eating. Even then I bet the bitch'd be all chewy an' taste horrible. Probably give me food poisonin', just to spite me."

"Here's hoping she has better luck with _that_ than what I've had," Ichigo muttered to himself, holding back a sly smirk.

Grimmjow frowned and glanced over in his direction. "What was that?"

Ichigo cleared his throat and took to stirring the broth with renewed vigour. "I said she's young, Grimm. Not to mention high-spirited. You saw the state of her when we found her, the poor thing was so badly neglected it's a wonder she survived at all." He peered at the seething blunette over his shoulder, offering him a small smile. "She just needs to learn to trust you, then she'll be golden."

"Che, _right_. Like that beast'll ever trust _me_," Grimmjow scoffed, resting his chin in his palm as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. He stared at Ichigo's back, mulling over the possibilities in his head, before uttering, "Yo, Kurosaki, lemme take Getsuga tomorrow."

"No."

Grimmjow glowered at the absolute answer. "Why the fuck not? The other cart horse is still lame, an' if I hitch Pantera up to the wagon she'll either kill the remainin' one, or run me off a fuckin' cliff!"

Ichigo shrugged nonchalantly. "That's a risk you're just going to have to take, I'm afraid. I'll need Nelly's help herding the cattle tomorrow, and there's no way in hell I'm putting her on that deathtrap of an animal."

Grimmjow, never one to shy from stooping to even the lowest of levels just to get his own way, got up from the table and stalked over to his pretty lover. Ichigo could only roll his eyes as he heard the jingle of the man's spurs approaching.

"C'mon, kitten," Grimmjow purred, slipping his arms around the younger man's waist from behind as he nuzzled his face into the peachy flesh of his neck. "I'm only goin' to Hennigan's Stead, so I'll be gone three, four hours tops. Ya won't even have time to miss him."

Pressing his body flush against Ichigo's back, Grimmjow gave a soft suck to the sensitive skin behind the kid's ear, delighting in the shoddily suppressed mewl he received in return. Smirking deviously, he continued to kiss and nip down the sinewy column. Ah, there really was nothing more satisfying than playing dirty – and luckily enough, Grimmjow just happened to be an expert in that field.

Letting his left hand dip lower so that he was caressing a slender thigh, Grimmjow let his words carry on a husky breath. "Whaddya say, Ichigo? If ya lend me Gets fer the afternoon, I promise to reward ya when I get home…"

Ichigo couldn't have stopped the pleasurable shiver that coursed through his being if he'd tried. That blue haired demon wasn't playing fair - not that he _ever_ did - and fuck it all if he wasn't falling straight into his taloned clutches without so much as even a fight.

His breathing hitched dramatically when Grimmjow's hand crept from his thigh to his crotch, those wicked digits lewdly palming his already semi hard erection. A hot, wet tongue flicked out against the shell of his ear and, forgetting himself, he moaned loudly, his hips rolling forward into the older man's teasing fingers.

"I understand ya may be havin' difficulties formin' words at the moment, kitten," Grimmjow half hummed, half growled, his own growing arousal more than apparent even through the thick material of his pants. "So a simple nod will do…"

Ichigo was so very close to just agreeing, to letting the devil in disguise have whatever the hell he wanted as long as he fucked him, and soon… But, just as he opened his mouth to consent, to let the blunette take his horse – as well as his dignity – he was saved at the last conceivable second by an enthusiastic, green haired miracle.

"Hey, Pa! Itsy! Look at what I found!" exclaimed an excited Nelliel as she charged into the kitchen, her naïve little mind completely unawares as to the compromising position she had unwittingly interrupted.

Grimmjow dropped his head onto Ichigo's shoulder and growled in frustration, whereas Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief now that the hypnotic trance the blunette had put him under was broken. Fuck, that had been too close.

"You're taking Pantera," Ichigo stated, but this time with a lot more authority behind his words.

"God-fuckin'-dammit!" Grimmjow groused, the tetchy tone to his voice sounding scarily similar to Nelliel's when throwing a tantrum.

Bending to scoop his hat from the floor, Grimmjow shoved it roughly back on his head, glared at his daughter, and then stormed out the back door.

Nelliel blinked, completely befuddled as the door slammed shut behind her father. Turning slowly to face her other parent, her treasure still cupped between both hands and held close to her chest, she cutely jutted out her bottom lip.

"Did I do something bad?" she asked, her sweet voice already quivering.

Ichigo held back an exasperated sigh. _Grimmjow and his fucking temper…_

"No, Nel," he assured her as he kneeled down to her level. "It was just, uh…bad timing."

"Oh…"

Sensing that the poor girl was on the very verge of tears, Ichigo quickly changed the subject, gesturing to her tiny, clasped hands. "So, what'cha got there?"

Nelliel perked right up at the mention of her catch, a beaming smile stretching across her lips, showing off beautiful, pearly teeth. "It's so pretty, mommy, and I found it right outside! Well…Zan found it – but _I_ caught it!"

_Goddamn you, Grimmjow_, Ichigo mentally snarled, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream at the mention of the accursed title. For the sake of Nelliel though, he pushed the sinister emotions aside. He'd take them out on his lover later.

"Oh yeah?" Feeling genuinely intrigued, yet knowing the diminutive imp better than to be in no way cautious, he probed further. "Well? What is it?"

"I got it just for you Itsygo, because it's orange, just like you," she smiled, holding out her hands.

Carefully unclasping her generous grip, Ichigo could only smile at the sight that greeted him; a brightly coloured tiger butterfly. The delicate creature sat timidly within the palm of her hand, its decorative wings spread wide to display the rich orange and midnight black pattern dusted across them.

"It's beautiful, Nel," Ichigo commented, his chest filling with warmth at the proud, happy grin the young girl exhibited at his words.

The butterfly, seemingly now aware that its captor had loosened up on its confines, fluttered its wings a few times before speedily taking flight. Nelliel screeched petulantly in protest, jumping to try and recapture the creature, but it was already well out of reach.

"Shit!" she cursed, following its erratic flight pattern around the room.

Ichigo rolled his eyes as, just like that, the serene atmosphere was shattered. _So much for small graces, ey?_

"Nelliel, don't swear," he scolded as he turned back to tend to dinner, leaving the girl to squeak and squawk as she chased the elusive butterfly around him.

* * *

><p>"Yo, brat. What'cha readin'?"<p>

Both Ichigo and Nelliel lifted their head to look in Grimmjow's direction at that, making him chuckle as curious ochre and wheaten tried to decipher as to whom he was referring. It was just after ten at night, the sound of crickets and nocturnal scavengers the only sound filling the space around the small family as they relaxed in the living room, unwinding after a long, arduous day under the blistering sun.

The large stone fireplace was lit and roaring, casting the open room in a warm, orangey glow and lending the three bodies some heat, even though it wasn't exactly needed.

Ichigo, lounging in a pair of black, loose fitting cotton pants and a shirt, was lazily reclining in the armchair by the window. His legs were dangling over one armrest whilst his back rested against the other, a look of total relaxation smoothing out his features as he read from the book propped up in his lap. Nelliel was clad in one of her father's shirts, the sleeves miles too long on her arms so that even her hands were drowned, and the length reaching to well past her knees. She was currently sprawled out on the bear skin rug in front of the fire, Zangetsu curled up protectively beside her. Grimmjow, also dressed in more lethargic attire like his orange haired lover, had just returned from his nightly routine of making sure the animals were settled down in their respective enclosures, as well as making sure everything was securely locked and bolted until morning. He also crammed in a smoke or two whilst he could, knowing that Ichigo would kick up a fuss if he lit up in the house. _"It's unhealthy, and you'll be setting a bad example for Nel"_ he'd complain.

_Tch_. Like the girl wasn't already scarred for life just by having him for a father…

"I was talkin' to the less whiny brat, Kurosaki," Grimmjow clarified, making his way towards his lazing Berry.

Ichigo scowled when he was swatted on the back of the head, but shifted forward regardless. Grinning, Grimmjow settled down behind him, pulling the younger man onto his lap. Ichigo huffed at the highly unnecessary disruption considering that there was a three-man couch sitting vacant adjacent to the armchair, but figuring that it would take more effort than he was willing to expend arguing his point with the stubborn as a mule blunette, he quickly decided to take up his previous sitting position – only difference being that said mule was now underneath him.

Nelliel smiled warmly at the sight of her parents getting cosy with one another, the sincere smile still tugging at her lips as she answered her father at last. "It's a story about a man who has to go and kill a bunch of bad guys because they stole his wife from him. There's lots of blood and cussing. I like it."

Grimmjow frowned, the hand that was languidly massaging Ichigo's scalp stilling in the silky tresses. "Ain't that a bit dark fer someone so young?"

"Oh please," Ichigo scoffed, tilting his head to pin Grimmjow with a condemning stare. "Like she hasn't seen enough bloodshed to last her a lifetime. Not to mention heard enough vulgar language spewing from that obscene mouth of yours to fill a dictionary."

Grimmjow's scornful retort died on his lips when Nelliel piped up, "Do ya wanna read it with me, daddy?"

Grimmjow snorted. "Ya know I ain't good with books, Apple. Yer more practised at that than I'll _ever_ be."

"How about I read it to you then?" she tried, scratching Zangetsu behind the ear.

Grimmjow felt his heart clench at that. Imagine, his own _daughter_, offering to help him where he fell short. Sure he could beat a man twice his size in a drunken bar fight, and, if he really tried, he could probably shoot the wings off of a fly – yet he couldn't do something as elementary as fucking read to his kid. It made him feel so completely pathetic.

"No thanks, squirt. I'm good." He kept his voice light and indifferent, but Ichigo could detect the underlying currents of self-loathing. "Anyways, isn't it well past yer bedtime? Go on, git, before am forced to beat ya fer disobeyin' curfew."

Nelliel's eyes widened in slight dread, and she hastily scrambled to her feet, waking the dozing Zangetsu with her panicked actions. "A-Aa! Okay!"

She padded over to where they sat, giving Ichigo a wet kiss on the cheek before waiting patiently for her father to bend down to press one to her forehead.

"Night Pa, Itsy," she beamed before pottering off to her room, Zangetsu hot on her heels.

"Goodnight, Nel."

"Later, kid."

Once Ichigo was sure she was out of sight, he raised the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at his slobbery cheek, grimacing at the sheer amount of saliva that one little action produced. Glancing up at the blunette, his heart dropped a little to find cerulean pools staring sullenly into space. Closing his book, he placed a hand on Grimmjow's cheek.

"You know she doesn't mean any harm," he said once he'd captured the other's attention. "She just doesn't understand that you didn't get the kind of knowledgeable upbringing that you broke your back to provide for her. Though I'm sure that even if she _did_, she wouldn't care in the slightest. She'll always love you, regardless of what you can or can't do."

Grimmjow sucked on his teeth, before tugging irritably on Ichigo's hair. "Don't be so sappy, Kurosaki. Yer gonna make me sick."

Ichigo rolled his eyes and picked up his book again, finding where he'd left off as he made himself comfortable on the blunette's lap. He got roughly five minutes of uninterrupted peace to indulge in the world of fantasy, before large hands began to roam his body and a hungry mouth was latched to the side of his neck.

Biting back a heady moan, Ichigo batted at the perpetually horny older male with the hard cover of his novel. "Grimm, stop. Seriously, I'm still sore from this morning…"

"Don't be so cold, Ichigo," Grimmjow purred, his right hand kneading his lover's thigh as his left sank into soft, orange spikes to angle his head for maximum access to his throat. Lapping his tongue over the younger man's Adam's apple, he grinned victoriously when Ichigo let his head loll back and a delicious mewl spilt from pink lips. "That's it, kitten, just give in. You and I both know ya want it…"

Knowing that he didn't have it in him to resist, Ichigo snapped his head forward and captured the blunette's lips in a fiery kiss. It took mere seconds for the contact to turn frantic and needy, both men attempting to suck the other's soul right out of their body as ravenous hands dipped under clothing and dived into brightly coloured hair.

"Bedroom," Ichigo mumbled against the greedy lips still locked to his own.

Grimmjow simply grunted his approval, manoeuvring his arms under Ichigo's legs and back to pick him up bridal style. For once, Ichigo didn't complain about the overly feminine treatment, and instead threw his own arms around the older man's corded neck, losing himself in a barrage of sinful kisses.

Kicking their bedroom door closed behind them, Grimmjow deposited his flustered Berry on their spacious bed, divesting both of them of their clothing in what had to be record breaking time.

The keening, mewling sounds pouring from his prey's mouth were driving Grimmjow to absolute distraction. Fuck, his Berry was so utterly gorgeous in the moments leading up to penetration, when those stunning eyes darkened to pools of chocolate brown, when that lean, lithe body glistened with beads of sweat and lightly freckled cheeks flushed a subtle pink.

The boy was just so goddamn _beautiful_.

Preparation was quick, neither of the two males demonstrating the patience to wait any length of time before the main course, and, with a drawn out moan from Ichigo, and a groan of blinding ecstasy from Grimmjow, they began their lovemaking.

For something that started off so hot and heavy, both men were somewhat surprised at the tender turn the actual sex took. The pace was steady and controlled, Grimmjow pumping in and out of Ichigo's familiar warmth with slow but firm strokes. Ichigo curled his arms around the larger man's neck, his fingers caressing the teal strands at the nape of his neck as he buried his face in the juncture of a broad shoulder, giving small licks and chaste kisses of encouragement to the tanned flesh as the blunette worked to bring them release.

Abusing the younger male's prostate like he was, it didn't take long for the warning signs to surface; the spasming of those velvety walls, the harsh panting of his lover as he moaned out his name over and over again, the tightening of lean limbs around his torso… They all pointed to the same conclusion – his pretty Berry was close.

Ichigo was truly on cloud nine. He couldn't remember the last time the usually wild and untameable blunette had been so gentle, so – dare he say it – _affectionate_, especially during sex. Normally the blue haired deviant would be tearing at his flesh with sharp teeth, would be breathing crude words into his ear and attacking his entrance like it was an effort to try and paralyse him for good. So to find the older man quietly brushing his lips along his neck and shoulders, and holding him close as he rocked them to climax was a dizzying change of pace.

Not fifteen minutes later and Ichigo was throwing his head back into the pillows, a keening cry of pure bliss ripping from his lungs as his orgasm rocketed from the soles of his feet to the tip of his head.

Assaulted by the gratifying sight, sound and feel of his orange haired lover's release, Grimmjow hurtled straight into his own nirvana, coming hard and fast inside of his beautiful Berry moments after.

Once he was sure that he physically _could_, Grimmjow retreated from the welcoming warmth of Ichigo's stretched out entrance and slumped down heavily beside him. With a tired grunt, he splayed out his limbs and he rolled onto his back.

"F-Fuck," Ichigo started, his breathing ragged. "That was…"

He trailed off, unable to find the appropriate adjective to accurately describe what he had just experienced. His post-orgasm high was still buzzing through his every nerve end, making him feel almost _giddy_ it was that potent. He rolled his head to face the blunette, smiling stupidly at the sight of the older man struggling to calm his own jagged breaths, a muscular arm draped over his eyes.

"Amazing?" Grimmjow suggested, running his hand through his dampened locks. He gave a toothy grin, his ego swelling rather nicely when he heard no word of objection to his choice. "Heh. What a nice send off fer my epic journey tomorrow, eh kitten?"

"Pfft, _epic journey_…" Ichigo muttered, shaking his head. "You're only heading into town, Grimm. I hardly think that's precarious enough to classify as 'epic'."

"Ya never know, Berry. I could encounter a stagecoach robbery on my travels, or even a turf war shootout – then what would ya do, huh? When ya found out I was dyin' on the side'a the road somewhere…" Grimmjow tilted his head to lock eyes with Ichigo, a slow smirk curving his lips. "I bet ya'd cry like a distraught lil' housewife, wouldn't'cha babe?"

Ichigo scowled and averted his gaze to the ceiling. "Fuck off. I'd be happy to finally have the chance to clean up Nel's vocabulary. That is, if the damage isn't already irrevocable."

Grimmjow barked out a laugh, roughly shoving Ichigo's shoulder so that he was forced to roll over onto his side. Grabbing the covers, he hauled them up and over their naked forms before spooning up against the younger man.

"Whatever, Kurosaki. Just go to sleep already. I've heard enough of yer voice fer one day."

Ichigo heaved a sigh at the rough treatment, before relaxing into the other's secure embrace. "Aww, I love you too, Grimm," he drawled sarcastically.

"No need to tell me what I already know, kitten," Grimmjow retorted haughtily, pressing a loving kiss to the back of the boy's head as he yawned and let his eyes slip closed.

Ichigo tried, he really did, but he couldn't stop the infectious smile from spreading across his lips as he listened to Grimmjow's breathing gradually evening out. He gave room for one, wide-jawed yawn himself, before allowing the blunette's steadily rising and falling chest to ease him into a well deserved night of sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow, that was a long one. It would have been shorter, as I hadn't originally intended to add the lemon at the end. Not that it was _really_ a lemon - more of a semi-lemon? A lemonette? Ooo, I like that one, let's roll with that.**

**Anywho, I thought that the lemonette would add a little more depth into Grimmjow and Ichigo's relationship, as well as provide some, uh, 'entertainment' for you readers. So, yer welcome~**

**Hope ya'll enjoyed the lil' peek into our boys' daily lives, y'know, before things turn sour and the shit really hits the fan - just as it always does with our sexy duo, ne? I had a lot of fun writing this, and I can only sincerely hope that ya'll had as much fun reading it.**

**'Til next time, ciao my sweets**

**Toringtino~**


	3. A Tempest Looms

**Disclaimer: Don't own a thing. Except the idea to mix'n'match two wonderful creations. All other rights go to their respective owners.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

_'A Tempest Looms'_

Grimmjow woke early the next morning. Okay, so it was already ten thirty in the morning, but the sun was still fairly low in the sky, just finishing its ascent over the crest of the eastern hill, and that alone made it early enough in his books. Quietly extricating himself from the peachy limbs of his lover, he first took care of the necessities; washing, relieving himself, and partaking in a quick - but rather overdue - shave, before returning to the bedroom to dress.

Needing wear resilient enough to protect his skin from the harsh dirt storms that kicked up along the jagged roads, yet something light enough that he wasn't going to boil to death under the scorching heat of the sun, he chose to don a grey shirt, a pair of black denim pants and a matching waistcoat. Stepping into black boots, he fastened a belt through his jeans, the large silver buckle depicting the number six in its centre, before slipping on a pair of black leather working gloves.

As he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt in order to roll the sleeves up, he gazed over at his still slumbering lover and scoffed.

'_Always wake at sunrise' my ass_, he sneered mentally, the spiked rowels on his spurs jingling noisily as he made his way over to his sleeping Berry.

Perching himself on the edge of the bed, Grimmjow ran his gloved fingers quietly through orange spikes, dipping to press a kiss to the rare, smoothed out skin between the boy's brows. He stilled when Ichigo began to stir, exhaling in relief when the kid simply stretched and settled again, a soft hum purring in his chest.

Grimmjow smiled at the overly cute sound, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Ichigo's cheekbone as he leaned down to whisper, "I'll be headin' off soon, kitten. So…am'a go grab Gets, an' then I'll be outta yer hair…"

An undignified "Ack!" was forced from Grimmjow's lungs as he went to rise, only to be hindered by slender fingers fisting harshly in his teal locks. Glaring down at the culprit, he found Ichigo with his habitual scowl out in full force, but his eyes still firmly shut.

"Take Getsuga, and I swear to god I won't put out for an entire week," Ichigo warned, his words dark and resolute in spite of the scratchy tone of his sleep-riddled voice.

Grimmjow snorted, untangling the younger man's digits from his hair. "That it? Tch, that's nothin'. I could easily last a week."

Dark lashes snapped open to reveal shining ochre, orange tinted brows rising in deliberate provocation, as if to say _"Oh really?"_

Grimmjow set determined cerulean on those testing orbs, refusing to back down. Fucking brat didn't know him very well if he thought he could intimidate a man such as him with something as pathetic as withholding sex. Che. Who did his Berry think he challenging? He was Grimmjow fucking Jaegerjaques! He submitted to no man, _especially_ not bratty little kids who thought that they were some kind of hot fucking shit…

…It took precisely seven seconds before Grimmjow caved, his jaw clenching as he growled irritably at his obstinate lover.

"Urgh, _fine!_ Fuck!" he rumbled, shoving his hand testily into Ichigo's face, just so he didn't have to look at those defiant eyes any longer. And also as a twisted, petulant form of payback. "Yer such a manipulative lil' bastard, ya know that, right?"

"And you're a grouchy, hot-tempered man-child," Ichigo rebuked after he pried the large hand from his person. Grimmjow curled his lip in evident protest, but didn't bother to argue the point, leaving Ichigo to roll his eyes and continue on. "Did you say goodbye to Nel?"

Grimmjow shook his head, tousling his locks. "Naw, she was still in bed – just like yer lazy ass. I did give her a kiss though," he added, knowing that at least that should appease the younger man. The little madam had also left a few rolled cigarettes on her desk for him, but there was no way in hell he was telling Ichigo that. He hated that she was so skilled at such a task, and tended to flip his lid when he caught her doing it.

And so, keeping that particular titbit of information to himself, he instead took the conversation in a different direction, nudging the younger male playfully with his elbow. "So much fer always waking at sunrise, ey Kurosaki?"

Ichigo frowned. "I _did_ get up, asshole. But you were still asleep, so I figured I'd just follow your example and wait until you woke me."

"C'mon Berry, there's no need to be all bashful," Grimmjow purred lasciviously, giving his vibrant haired lover a cheeky wink. "You can just come right out an' say it; I fucked ya so good last night you were practically comatose."

"Idiot!" Ichigo groused, promptly turning his back on the perverted blunette to hide his growing blush. "Christ Grimmjow, if your ego gets any bigger you'll have trouble making it out the front door…"

Grimmjow grinned wolfishly at his pretty Berry's embarrassment. "You love it, kitten. Don't lie."

Ichigo didn't get the chance for a snappy comeback before he was forced onto his back and rough lips were moulding over his own. Still feeling a tad bit groggy, and knowing that he had to conserve his energy for more pressing tasks that day, Ichigo gave in almost instantly. Tangling his fingers into electric teal tresses, he returned the kiss with passion, sucking Grimmjow's tongue into his mouth to play with his own.

Grimmjow growled his approval at the quick compliance, teasingly nipping at the younger man's wet muscle when it licked a sensual path along the lightly ridged roof of his mouth. His pretty Berry was mewling so wonderfully, and with such minimal effort on his part, that it took all of his self-control not to pounce and ravish that sexy, peach hued flesh.

Knowing himself well enough to finish the heated contact before he actually _did_ snap and it escalated into something much more elaborate, Grimmjow reluctantly drew back, tugging Ichigo's bottom lip between his teeth before releasing the boy completely. He smirked devilishly when Ichigo whined at the loss.

"Sorry, kitten, but I don't have time to rock yer world right now." He dodged the incoming blow aimed for his shoulder, capturing the assaulting fist in his hand and turning it over to place a loving kiss on a peachy wrist. "No need fer violence, Berry. I'll tear ya up good an' proper when I get back. But, until then, yer just gonna have to make do with yer hand."

Grimmjow had no time to react before a pillow was smothered against his face. "Just get the hell out, jackass."

Chuckling, Grimmjow rose from the bed, tracking a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah, am goin' already." Picking up his black leather hat from the top of their drawers, a single eagle's feather that Nelliel had found fixed off centre in the band around the crown, Grimmjow fitted it atop his head before moving to the door. "I've still to hitch up the horses, so I'll be back in to grab the rest of my shit after. Don't feel obliged to drag that bone-idle carcass of yers outta bed, though. Wouldn't want ya overexertin' yerself or anythin'…"

He hastily ducked out the door, slamming it shut behind him as he narrowly escaped the latest projectile hurled in his direction. The wooden ashtray, which had been sitting on the bedside table, collided loudly against the door, before dropping with a _thud_ to the floor. Grimmjow rolled his eyes at the fiery dramatics of his beautiful lover - the kid was always so quick to blow his goddamn fuse. But, try as he may, he couldn't help but smile as he made his way outside.

Back in the bedroom, Ichigo blew out a heavy sigh before collapsing back on the bed, at least thankful that the ashtray had been empty. Not that he would've cleaned it up even if there had been debris in it. After all, it was the damn blunette's fault if there was, _and_ that he'd thrown it in the first place. So…yeah.

Getting himself comfortable once more, the duvet tucked up by his chin and his face buried in a heavenly soft, feather pillow, there was a grace period of about, oh, _fifteen seconds_, before the bedroom door creaked open again.

Not needing to sit up or even raise his head to investigate the cause of the intrusion, Ichigo simply drew the corner of the covers back, and was almost instantly joined by a giggling Nelliel. Trying to ignore the fact that he was still completely starkers – and that Zangetsu was now curled up at the foot of the bed – Ichigo hummed pleasantly and curled the little girl close to his chest.

Nelliel sighed in contentment, nuzzling her face into her other father's soft skin as he tenderly ran his fingers through her hair. She always snuck into her parent's bedroom when she knew her real father was going out. Grimmjow _never_ let her sleep with them any more, saying that at her age she was too big to be clambering into bed beside them, and that he couldn't molest Ichigo with her around. Curious, she'd asked her orange haired parent what 'molest' was, but, instead of answering, he'd turned bright red, hit her father, and then refused to look at either one of them for the rest of the day.

She still didn't know what it meant…

Ichigo frowned when he heard the unmistakable sound of the young girl suckling on her thumb – a god-awful habit he was growing grey hairs in his efforts to try and break her from – and the sudden urge to discourage the childish action was gnawing at him. However, in the interest of the soothing serenity that had settled down around them, he decided to just let her be. At least _this_ time. Burying his nose into her sea-foam green locks, he inhaled deeply, getting strong hints of wild berries that was distinctly Nelliel, and the subtle aroma of the earthy musk that was Grimmjow from the shirt that she still wore.

With a small smile gracing his lips, Ichigo let his eyes flutter closed, the calming scents of his family gently lulling him into a peaceful doze.

Meanwhile, Grimmjow was feeling anything _but_ calm and peaceful. In fact, if he'd had any form of weapon on his person, he'd have long since offed the barbaric fucking beast currently running circles around him.

Or himself. He wasn't fussed.

"Damn you to hell, Pantera!" he cursed as the animal trotted past him, jubilantly tossing her head and whinnying like she hadn't a care in the world.

He was out in the crowded corral, lasso in hand as he glared at the horse constantly dancing out of reach. Pantera was a five year old Appaloosa mare. Her coat was a rich, dark brown, and she had a white blanket with copious spots of the same colour covering her hindquarters. A white star sat on her forehead, as well as a large white snip on her nose and two white socks on her forelegs. With an athletic build, and standing at an impressive 15.2 hands, she was aesthetically stunning.

_Yeah, too bad she happens to be the spawn of Satan_, Grimmjow thought with mass amounts of disdain.

The blunette had bought the rowdy mare from the trading post up at Manzanita – a small stopover establishment a little ways up the road from their home – not long after moving in with Kurosaki. His old horse, Leona, had kicked the bucket after a fatal gunshot wound to the chest, so he had been in desperate need of the transport. The poor creature had been skin and bone when they first saw her, the trader claiming that she had been badly abused by her previous owner. Grimmjow immediately snatched her up, and for quite the bargain too, thinking that a little TLC would soon see her back on her feet.

As he looked at her now though, he couldn't remember ever regretting a decision more.

Pantera pranced through the throng of pottering cattle to the grazing Getsuga, nipping the animal playfully on the shoulder in the hopes of getting him to join in on her little game. Getsuga snorted and swished his tail, but otherwise continued to feed. Getsuga was a seven year old, pure black American Quarter Horse stallion. He was one of Ichigo's most prized possessions, and honestly, Grimmjow couldn't blame him for being so damn proud of the animal. He was sturdy, reliable, well trained, and one of the fastest creatures on four legs Grimmjow had ever encountered.

_Fucking Kurosaki and his potluck…_

It took several epically failed attempts; including four quite undignified falls, two instances of having to hurriedly hop the fence to avoid a nasty head-on collision, and one harshly nipped backside, before he finally managed to rope the rampant mare. And even then she trailed him half way round the enclosure before he got her out to the wagon.

A further twenty minutes of cursing and avoiding malicious bites saw Pantera harnessed up beside the patiently waiting Kon, a beautiful Cleveland Bay. Kon and Bostov were both Cleveland's, both six years old and bay in colour. Two weeks ago, whilst pulling a heavy load uphill, Bostov twisted his front right fetlock, and was still in recovery to this day – hence all the hassle Grimmjow had to endure in using Pantera instead. The blunette didn't have much hope where Bostov's recovery was concerned, figuring he'd give the miserable sod another week before he'd need to 'remove' and replace him.

He'd have to make sure Ichigo took Nelliel out for a ride on that day.

After making sure that the breastcollars, girths and traces were secured properly around both animals, Grimmjow tethered Kon to the hitching post outside the corral and headed back indoors to fetch the rest of the arsenal he'd need for the trip.

Moving as quietly as he could, he crept into the bedroom, only to have his heart swell at the cosy sight that greeted him. Ichigo and his little Apple were cuddled up under the covers together, Nelliel sprawled out over the young man's chest as she sucked on her thumb, and Ichigo holding her close with an arm curled around her tiny waist.

Resisting the strong compulsion to shoo the damn mongrel off of his bed in case he woke the sleeping pair, Grimmjow instead busied himself with grabbing his supplies. He fastened a gun holster belt loosely around his hips, slipping his Colt into place against his upper right thigh and a sharpened melee knife into the scabbard resting at his left hip. Moving to the wooden cabinet on the wall, he removed a large holster attached to a looped leather strap, which he slung over his form like a sash. Fixing his bolt-action rifle into the holster now sitting diagonally on his back, he next grabbed his bandolier, wearing it in the same fashion as the holster only over the opposite shoulder, so that the two formed a cross over his chest. Last, but certainly not least, he grabbed a small satchel, filling it with plentiful rounds for both weapons before slinging it over the same shoulder as the bandolier.

Checking, and then _double_ checking, that he had absolutely everything he would need, he allowed himself one last, longing look at the serene picture his kin had painted. He wasn't entirely surprised to find ochre eyes gazing back at him this time, especially considering that Ichigo tended to be a light sleeper.

Ichigo smiled warmly at him, his hand languidly petting through their daughter's hair as she slumbered on obliviously. Ichigo didn't utter a single syllable, but Grimmjow knew exactly what those beautiful eyes were wordlessly communicating to him; _"I love you. Come home safe."_

A genuine smile tugged at his own lips as he nodded his consent, the simple gesture coupled with his resolute gaze speaking volumes for the assurance that he would _always_ return to him.

To her.

To his _family_.

Ichigo's smile stretched even wider at the silent reassurance, the unyielding promise, before he hummed in contentment and nestled himself back around Nelliel. The satisfied grin curling Grimmjow's mouth was threatening to consume his face as he quietly exited the room, pulling the door closed softly behind him.

_Now_ he had everything he needed.

* * *

><p>Passing through the settlement of Thieves' Landing was never something that Grimmjow particularly looked forward to. Not in the <em>slightest<em>. Situated on the western shores of Flat Iron Lake, the small town served as a minor port for goods and materials for the region, as well as acting as a safehouse for some of the scummiest men on the face of the fucking planet. He did know of a shortcut that would bypass the area completely, but seeing as it involved crossing a broad river stemming from a waterfall at Aurora's Basin, where the current and depth were ever unpredictable, he couldn't risk it. Not with the wagon, at any rate.

Thieves' Landing wasn't just a catchy name, it was also completely accurate. The entire town was overrun with criminals and thugs, and had absolutely no law enforcement thrust upon it. Of any kind. Seems that the government and U.S. Marshals knew better than to go poking their noses around in such a seedy area, where they were more likely to end up in a body bag than they were to find any leads on slippery criminals eluding the jaws of Lady Justice.

Approaching the area, Grimmjow could feel his muscles tensing and his eyes sharpening, his body already preparing him for a fight before he'd even stepped foot into the damn place. It was something of a natural instinct, an innate kind of impulse that he could do nothing to deter. After all, he was well aware of the fact that this was predominantly Bollard Twins gang territory, and they hadn't exactly been fond of Grimmjow when he still _had_ influence, let alone what they might think of him _now_.

Having rode in a gang himself – considered _the_ most notorious gang across the waters – Grimmjow knew what to expect of such a place. Years ago, he would've considered a rundown, immoral settlement such as Thieves' Landing a safe haven, something as close to 'home' as he would ever get. Back then he'd been _untouchable_; he'd have had all kinds of bandits and delinquents rolling out the red carpet for him just to keep their hides safe from his fiery temper – and well renowned trigger-itch. Everybody knew who he was, what the brand on his back meant, and, more importantly, they knew just what a man like him was capable of.

But that was _then_. These days he was more wary of places like this than he was proud. He wasn't naïve, he knew that word would have spread that he was no longer the infamous gunslinger he once was. He had no doubt that gangs from all over the country knew of his tarnished reputation, and would be in no way surprised if a handsome bounty hadn't been placed upon his head for the fact. Grimmjow felt his teeth grinding. If there was one thing he _detested_ with all his heart and soul – it was fucking _bounty hunters_. Dirty scumbags always looking for a quick find'n'rope – or, depending on the hunter, shoot'n'rope – to line their pockets with. They pissed him the hell off.

And where would one expect to find such underhanded vermin, you ask? Heh. That's right. In hellholes just like _this_.

Pulling back on the reins to slow the horses pace to a brisk walk, Grimmjow transferred both sets to his left hand and kept his right discreetly resting on the butt of his pistol. In spite of the fact that he'd just been travelling under a glowing blanket of warming sun, the skies overhead seemed to darken perceptibly, sending an uncomfortable shiver down the length of his spine. The logical cause for such a dramatic change in the environment was that the whole surrounding area of Thieves' Landing consisted of a wet, marshy bogland – but Grimmjow wasn't convinced of this. To him, it was almost as if the foreboding change in the atmosphere was there to symbolise the actual danger of the small town, to act as a fair warning to the more honest and law-abiding citizens that passed through.

The blunette made it about halfway through the area, was just approaching the narrow bridge that would take him towards the exit on the other side, when a loud, high-pitched scream spooked the horses and caused him to instantaneously draw his weapon.

Looking toward the source of the ear-piercing cry, Grimmjow could feel his anger flaring exponentially. A young woman – a prostitute, if the lacy corset and stockings were anything to go by – was being pinned to the sodden, muddy ground just outside the brothel, a grubby looking man holding her down with a knee on her exposed shoulder and a hand fisted in curly blonde hair. Catching a flash of silver, Grimmjow's breath hitched when he noticed a knife clutched in the man's other hand, a low rumbling reverberating through his chest as the deadly blade was pressed harshly against a creamy throat. He couldn't hear what the man was so visibly upset about, but he was obviously well beyond inebriated. Grimmjow scoffed. He'd be willing to bet it was something ridiculously stupid, like the irate 'customer' couldn't get it up, or the youthful beauty didn't do anal.

Grimmjow cocked his gun out of reflex, but froze in doing anything further. A quick sweep of the space around him saw that he'd already attracted attention to himself, just from the simple action of stopping to take notice of the spectacle at all. Muggings, rapes, murders; they were all commonplace in towns like this. They happened so regularly and, more often than not, _publicly_, that the locals simply paid no heed to them. Some would go as far to gamble and bet on the results, but no one batted an eye as they took place right in front of their fucking faces. No one dared object or interfere for fear of becoming the next victim, and thus, no matter the crime, it was allowed to pass uninterrupted.

Grimmjow, however, was in two minds. He knew that meddling was only asking for trouble, that daring to raise a weapon without strict due cause could result in an allout shoot 'em up. But at the same time, did he really have it in him to ignore the girl's pleas for help when he could just as easily fill the fucker on top of her full of holes? Did she really deserve to die with as little grace and dignity as a slaughtered pig? If things had worked out differently, and that was Nelliel pinned in the dirt, would anyone show her any mercy?

With a heavy, rueful sigh, Grimmjow made his decision.

Slowly lowering his Colt, he placed it back in the holster and urged Kon and Pantera on with a simple slap of the reins. Grimacing when he heard the guttural scream of the girl as her life was ruthlessly snuffed out, he forced himself to keep his eyes forward and steered the wagon onto the rickety bridge.

If Ichigo was here, he had little doubt as to what the outcome would have been. But his Berry lacked the vital element of heartlessness that was needed for a situation such as this. He was all about 'doing the right thing', a principle that strengthened twofold when it came to the fairer sex. Damsels in distress were like a beacon to the orange haired male. To Grimmjow, though, it was an incredibly puerile attribute to possess, and one that would see his pretty lover dead if he wasn't more careful. Sure, at one point, it was such naivety that brought the two of them together in the first place, but the older man had been discouraging such behaviour ever since they got together. So far, it wasn't going too well, and he knew that Ichigo would smack him hard right in the jaw for what he'd casually allowed to happen, but Grimmjow couldn't bring himself to care much. It really wasn't his problem, nor any of his damn business, and he outright refused to die over something as petty as disgruntled customer and a cheap-as-fucking-sin whore.

After clearing the bridge, Grimmjow whipped the horses into a faster gait, wanting nothing more than to get to Hennigan's Stead already so that he could get their supplies and return home to his family. Damn, after _that_ soul-dampening encounter, he was going to crush his little Apple in a colossal bear hug and suck the face right off of his pretty Berry. And he'd do it all with a smile on his face because, well, he was one of the lucky ones.

* * *

><p>In his haste to get through the town in one piece, Grimmjow failed to notice the three pairs of familiar eyes watching his every move from inside the squalid, dimly lit tavern of Thieves' Landing. One of the men, with spiky, raven black hair and aqua green eyes, snorted derisively as he slumped back in his chair.<p>

"What a goddamn pussy," he sneered as he watched the blunette ride off through the grimy window. "For a second there, I thought he was actually gonna pull the trigger. What the fuck happened to our Sexta?"

The smallest of the three, another raven haired male with piercing, emerald green orbs, remarked in a simple monotone, "Domestic life has obviously calmed him down."

The first rolled his eyes. "Tch, _domestic_ life. What a joke."

"Maybe it wasn't even him," the third, and by far largest, man piped up.

Aqua and emerald green snapped to him, one in a frown and the other in complete disdain. It was the smaller of the two that spoke up.

"You really are a Neanderthal. Who else do you know that has _blue_ hair? In future, please locate what little brain cells you have before you speak in my presence. I don't wish to be associated with someone who cannot even _think_ before he spews such nonsense. It damages my reputation irreparably."

The large man huffed, throwing brawny arms across his chest. "Whatever, midget-man. Can't we go already? I'm bored as fuck waitin' around; I wanna get to the action!"

The first looked expectantly at the second, also waiting anxiously for the verdict. Wide smirks pulled at the two men's mouths when the smaller raven head gave a curt nod and rose from his seat.

"The former Sexta is no longer an issue," he commented dryly, fixing his comrades with a steely gaze. "We have our orders. Let's go."

The remaining two gave a cheer of approval, downing their shots of whiskey before rising to follow the other man out of the batwing doors of the saloon to where their horses were roped up, both buzzing with anticipation of their latest assignment. The unsuspecting Espada turncoat was going to wish he'd never relinquished his rank…

* * *

><p>"Good job, Nels! Nice and steady, keep them moving forward! That's it!"<p>

Ichigo tipped the wide brim of his dark tan cowboy hat back with his thumb, using his shirt sleeve to wipe away the sweat beading on his forehead. Fuck it was hot out today. He was wearing a pair of olive green jeans, a dark cream shirt, heavy brown boots and a pair of brown leather working gloves. He had their most powerful rifle slung across his back and a LeMat revolver tucked down the back of his pants. Normally a rifle would be enough, but, although extremely deadly, the buffalo rifle could only hold one round, thus making its rate of fire incredibly poor – hence the revolver. If, for whatever reason, he found himself drawn into an ambush, be it animal or otherwise, he'd at least be better equipped for such a scenario. He never would have put so much thought into such a thing even a year ago, was never one to fret over his own personal safety much, but things were different now. Now he had Grimmjow's little girl, their daughter, to look out for. He'd gladly risk being _over_ prepared, than caught off guard where Nelliel's safety was concerned.

Fixing his hat back down onto his head properly to shadow his eyes from the intense glare of the stifling afternoon sun, he couldn't help but smile at their little Apple as she rode Getsuga out in front of their fifteen strong herd, consisting of fourteen painted cows and one solid brown bull. The young girl wore a pair of white leggings under a beautiful yellow summer dress, a white hat sat atop her head, a pair of brown boots on her feet and her long hair swept up into a messy ponytail so that the soft breeze could cool her neck.

Nelliel had Getsuga moving in a lazy trot, leading the herd in the right direction as Ichigo and Zangetsu held up the rear, keeping the bovine beasts moving along and a keen eye out for any stragglers. Although Ichigo was happy that Nelliel was having a blast helping him out, the girl all smiles and bubbly giggles, he had to admit that he lamented having to move on foot. Zangetsu was surprisingly adept at herding, much to the younger man's awe. He'd always assumed a wolf would be more interested in chowing down on the animals, rather than facilitating in manoeuvring them anyplace. But, whilst the pup was a definite help, under the scorching heat of the blazing sun it didn't really account for much, not when even the smallest of inclines were really taking it out of the orange haired male.

Beating back the overwhelming urge to break out into song and dance when the lush green grass of the open pasture field came into view, Ichigo pushed Nelliel to pick up the pace, sending Zangetsu off to the right when he noticed a few of the herd beginning to break off at the sudden change of pace.

Nelliel whooped in delight as she gently spurred Getsuga into a light canter, the gait as smooth as woven silk underneath her as the stallion expertly picked its footholds over the uneven terrain. The cattle followed them into the appetising section of field, happy to settle down and graze as soon as their cloven hooves touched the crisp, green earth.

It took Ichigo a minute or two to catch up, by which time Nelliel had guided Getsuga under the shade of a large oak tree, Zangetsu panting heavily by the horse's right flank. Ichigo wheezed out a shattered breath when he finally reached them, collapsing in a heap on the ground under the cooling shadow of the tree's vast canopy of branches. Knocking his hat off, he stretched out on his back, sighing in happy relaxation as he draped an arm over his eyes.

Nelliel let slip a mirthful snicker as Getsuga dropped his head to nose quizzically at Ichigo's bright orange hair as he sprawled out, which then turned into a full blown squeal of laughter when the stallion snorted loudly right in her other father's face, covering the man in all kinds of horrible fluids.

"_Ulghh_, goddamn it," said man groused, scrubbing his sleeve over his face. He scowled over at the nonchalant animal, who was now munching happily on the grass by his head. "Thanks very much, Gets…"

"He was just saying hello," Nelliel innocently informed him as she smoothed her hand out over the stallion's ebony neck. "I think he missed you, Itsy."

Ichigo tilted his head back to look at her. "You think so, huh?" Nelliel nodded enthusiastically, making him grin. "I dunno about that, now. He seemed pretty happy with you riding him. Did you have fun?"

"Hell yeah!" Nelliel exclaimed, giving Getsuga pause at the shrill noise.

Ichigo shushed him, petting his soft nose. "Not so loud, Nelly. He spooks easy, you know that."

"Oh, right. Sorry…" she replied sheepishly, petting the horse apologetically. Her beaming smile was soon back though, and she gazed down at her parent with shining eyes. "Did'ja see me out there, Itsy? I think I did real good! Prob'ly much better than Pa, huh? It's okay, you can tell me – I promise I won't say anything!"

Ichigo chuckled, dusting himself off as he rose to his feet. Leaning over Getsuga's neck, he gave the small girl a conspiratorial wink. "You were _way_ better than your father, Apple. In fact, I'd say that you're even better than _me_."

Nelliel's eyes widened dramatically at that, her mouth dropping open in genuine shock. "Really? Ya mean it?" Ichigo smirked, inclining his head. "Woooow… I guess that means that I'm really cool then, huh Itsy?"

Ichigo cocked a brow at the smug tone of the young girl, fighting an imminent eye roll at just how much she'd sounded like the cocky blunette. Christ, he was going to end up in an early grave if she turned out to be any more like her father than she already was. He had enough stress-induced heart attacks dealing with Grimmjow on a daily basis, let alone the hell he would go through with _two_ of them in the house. The mere thought of it was making his spine tingle unpleasantly.

"Keep talking like that, and we'll have to buy you a bigger hat," Ichigo commented wryly as he bent to grab his own from the ground. He turned back to puzzled wheaten, and simply shook his head. "Never mind, Apple. Let's just get a move on. We have more chores to get done before your dad gets back." Making a shooing motion with his hand, he added, "Scoot forward, hon."

Nelliel did as she was told, moving toward the pommel so that Ichigo could swing up into the saddle behind her. Once he was settled, she let herself slip back into his lap, giggling happily when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he reached for the reins.

"Whaddya say we give ol' Gets a real workout, ne?" Ichigo asked as he slipped his feet into the stirrups. He hadn't bothered fixing them for Nelliel's shorter legs, because he knew she wouldn't need them for the leisurely task they'd just completed.

Nelliel gave a squeak of pure excitement, peering over her shoulder with a clear "Yes!" shimmering in those beautiful orbs. Ichigo gave a toothy grin.

"Okay. Hold on tight to the horn there," he instructed as he wrapped his left arm securely around her slender waist, holding her small form firmly against him. He softly spurred Getsuga into a walk, but the stallion was already well aware of their plans and tossed his head, impatiently chomping at the bit as Ichigo asked the equally eager girl, "You ready?"

Nelliel gave one, fervent nod. "Yuh-huh!"

Gathering up the reins a little tighter, Ichigo gave two sharp kicks to Getsuga's flank, urging the powerful creature onwards with a commanding yell of, "Hai, hai!"

Getsuga took off immediately, charging into a breakneck gallop with no stops in between. Nelliel laughed at the top of her lungs as he surged over the plains back toward their home, his thick muscles rolling as effortlessly as waves on the shore and his ebony coat gleaming like a bullet in the sun. The sound of the girl's jubilant squealing had a pleased grin curving Ichigo's lips, and he spurred Getsuga on faster, wanting to hear more of the happy sounds spilling freely from his daughter.

After a potentially disastrous occurrence involving another rider on the road who almost didn't get out of the way in time – Ichigo shouted an apology over his shoulder, though he sincerely doubted the irate man heard – they were suddenly racing under the wooden arc connected to the large fence that surrounded their vast land. Barrelling up the narrow dirt path, Ichigo steered Getsuga in through the open gates of the corral, pulling back firmly on the reins until the thundering of hooves became a steady patter instead.

Getsuga tossed his head back, neighing loudly as he suddenly reared up, relishing in having been able to stretch his limbs out so thoroughly. Nelliel squealed excitedly, fisting her hands in the stallion's mane as Ichigo leaned into the movement, pressing into her back to keep her grounded. When Getsuga settled back down, Ichigo patted the animal's muscular neck before dismounting and helping Nelliel to clamber off.

"That was so _awesome!_" Nelliel exclaimed, hugging her father tight around the waist. "Getsuga's really fast!"

Ichigo smiled, returning the hug with one arm around the girl's shoulders. "I'm glad you had a good time. If you're up for it, maybe you could help me bring the herd back in at the end of the week?"

"Yes! Oh please, pick me!" she beamed, pumping a small fist into the air. "Even you said that I was better than Pa, so _I_ should be the one to help!"

Ichigo chuckled. When Grimmjow found out that he'd belittled his 'mad skills' to his own daughter, there would be hell to pay. But he didn't care. The blue haired bastard deserved it after the whole 'mommy' incident.

"I'll definitely consider it," Ichigo told her as he unbuckled the girth around his horse. "If the weather's nice like today, then you can come. But if it's raining or stormy, I'm going to need Grimmjow." Nelliel's face fell at that, her bottom lip jutting out in a petulant pout. Ichigo smiled amiably, throwing the stirrups over the seat of the western style saddle before moving on to unfasten the bridle. "I'm sorry, Nels, but the cows get very flighty during bad weather. They get scared and are prone to stampeding. You could get hurt, and I just couldn't gamble your safety like that. And besides," he added with a cheeky grin, passing the bridle off to the small girl so he could hoist the saddle off, "the only thing the herd finds scarier than thunderstorms, is the sound of your daddy's voice when he's angry. They _always_ listen to him."

Nelliel giggled, but nodded in understanding. After all, she'd heard her father's 'angry voice' on several different occasions, and knew that it was enough to make even Ichigo flinch. Oh, those poor cows…

Putting the tack away in the barn, Ichigo took the time to check up on Bostov, sighing when he found the beautiful creature still struggling to put any amount of weight on his injured leg. Every time Nelliel asked about him, Ichigo had said that he was making a steady improvement, that he was just having a slow recovery – but he didn't know how much longer he could continue lying to her like that. He and Grimmjow had already discussed it, and Ichigo was running out of ways to stall for time. Nelliel was going to be heartbroken, and he hated that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

Heaving another sigh, he made sure Bostov had enough hay and water to keep him comfortable, before bolting down the large barn doors and joining Nelliel back in the corral. The girl was stroking Getsuga's neck as he grazed, a sombre look of realisation pulling her features into a look of despair. Zangetsu, having finally caught up to them after being left behind in the dust, was lying at Nelliel's feet, his ears resting flat against his head as he picked up on his Master's glum mood. Ichigo's heart clenched horridly at the sight, hating any instance where the usually bright and animated child was compelled to face the cold, harsh truths of life. Forcing a small smile onto his lips, he got down on his haunches in front of her.

"Don't worry, Nels," he soothed, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. "Everything will be okay, you'll see." Nelliel simply averted her gaze, Ichigo's strained smile failing him as he stood back up. "Why don't you go wash up, and I'll fix us something to eat before we get back to work, yeah?"

Nelliel nodded softly, leading the way as Zangetsu trotted beside her and Ichigo lagged behind, pulling the gates closed behind them and securing the bolt into place. When he turned around, his brows furrowed to find Nelliel standing stock still halfway between the house and where he stood.

"Nelly?" he called as he made his way over to her, his frown deepening when she made no move to acknowledge him and he noticed the hackles on Zangetsu's shoulders raised. "What is it? Why are you–"

His words died on his lips as he looked in the direction that had captured her attention, his blood congealing to liquid ice when his ochre gaze landed on two figures upon horseback standing not ten yards away.

"Nelliel, get inside," he told her, not once taking his eyes from the two men facing them as he slowly reached for his revolver. He didn't even dare to _blink_. "Nel, go _now_."

Nelliel couldn't have moved, even if she wanted to. She could feel her heart beating erratically in her chest, making her limbs tremble and her breath uneven. "M-Master Ulquiorra…" she stuttered, her wheaten orbs wide as they locked onto familiar, emerald green.

"What?" Ichigo scowled, glancing briefly at his daughter. "Nel…you _know_ those men?"

Nelliel nodded slowly and swallowed hard. "Y-Yes. They're friends of Pa's…"

Ichigo's breathing hitched. "…'Friends'?"

Again, Nelliel nodded, turning her frightened gaze to the anxious one of her orange haired parent. "_Old_ friends…"

"Shit." Ichigo curled his lip, his fingers wrapping tightly around the butt of his gun. "That's what I was afraid of."

Ochre and wheaten snapped toward the two figures when they suddenly dismounted, Ichigo using the distraction to quickly whip out the LeMat. "Don't take another step," he warned, training the front sight of the gun on the smaller of the two, the one Nelliel had identified. "Who the fuck are you, and what do you want. Speak fast."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes as the smaller man took a few casual steps forward, his hands tucked in a nonthreatening manner in the pockets of his black jeans. The man was unusually petite, in both height and stature, Ichigo figuring him to be around 5'5, maybe 5'6 – around the average height for a woman. He had messy black hair that fell just short of his shoulders, a lock of his bangs falling between eyes of the most soul-piercing green Ichigo had ever seen. His skin was a pale but flawless white, which was only accentuated further by the getup he wore – black jeans, waistcoat and boots, a dark green shirt, black leather gloves and a black cowboy hat. Maybe Ichigo would get lucky, and the smaller man would pass out from heat exhaustion before long…

"I don't make a habit out of telling useless trash my name," the man commented in a monotone so passionless, it made Ichigo shiver. "However, considering the circumstances, I suppose an introduction is only appropriate." Stopping a mere ten feet from the orange haired male, with his hands still stuffed securely in his pockets, the man resumed the conversation. "My name is Ulquiorra Cifer. My associate there," he motioned to the large man behind him, "is Yammy Llargo."

Ichigo took a brief moment to assess the other. The man was, in so many words, fucking _huge_. With burly muscles practically ripping the seams of his shirt, tanned skin and a height of at least seven foot, he was a complete contrast to his pale skinned comrade.

Snapping his attention back to Ulquiorra, Ichigo growled. "What are you doing here? If you're looking for Grimmjow, then I'm afraid you're out of luck."

Ulquiorra blinked. "Who ever said we were here for that traitorous scum?"

"'Traitorous scum'?" Ichigo could feel irrational fury boiling over in him, the toxic adrenaline seeping throughout his bloodstream pushing his emotions to the extreme. "What the fuck? _You_ left _him_. He'd been shot, was bleeding out on the side of the road, and you all just left him there to die! How dare you accuse _him_ of being a traitor when it was _you_ – his own _family_ – who abandoned _him_!"

Yammy burst out into loud, obnoxious laughter, easily scaring the two horses beside him with the booming sound. "Heh. Kid's got spunk, ey Ulquiorra? No wonder Sexta found 'im so appealin'."

"I feel that you are missing the point, Mr. Kurosaki," Ulquiorra continued, completely ignoring the imbecile behind him. Honestly, must he always interrupt?

Ichigo blanched at the use of his name. So, they knew who he was, huh? That couldn't spell anything good.

He raised his gun a little higher. "Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

Ulquiorra only just resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boy's obvious lack of deductive reasoning. Could it be that everybody on this side of the border was _this _dense?

"As you seem to be struggling to comprehend the situation, allow me to simplify it for you. If we are not here for the former Sexta," he started, looking pointedly between both Ichigo and the trembling Nelliel, "then obviously we are here for _another_ reason."

Ichigo immediately pushed Nelliel behind him, transferring his revolver to his right hand so that he could keep a hand on her shoulder. He gently fisted his hand in the fabric of her dress, trying to reassure her that he would rather die than let her go – as well as assure himself that she was still there.

"You can have her over my dead body," he snarled, pinning the pale man with a deadly glare.

Ulquiorra shrugged his shoulder, not in the least bit fazed by the empty threat. "That could very easily be arranged. However, our orders were to bring in _both_ of you. _Alive_. So killing you isn't really an option I have the liberty to explore."

Ichigo felt his heart plummet straight into his gut. "Wh-What? _Both_ of us?"

"That is correct. Now, if you'll just come quietly, we can–"

"No fucking way!" Ichigo snapped, cutting the smaller man off midsentence. "You've gotta be crazy if you think I'll let you touch a single fucking hair on either one of our heads! We're not going anywhere with you, so you can forget it!"

Ulquiorra sighed. "Please, there is no need for such vulgar language, Mr. Kurosaki. It would seem that you are a lot more like our former ally than I had originally thought. As I have said, we cannot kill you…" Extracting his right hand slowly from his pocket, he gave a simple hand gesture to Yammy. "…but that does not mean that I will not use brute strength. Resistance is futile, so please, do not force my hand. I would hate for any undue harm to befall the little one if you persist in being difficult."

Both Ichigo and Nelliel noticed when the colossal thug known as Yammy reached for the holster at his hip, but Zangetsu noticed it even before then. He caught the subtle twitch of the man's fingers as the neural impulse was sent from brain to limb, saw the malevolent gleam shine through his eyes and heard the quickened pace of his heart as he received his silent order. As such, the charcoal canine was able to launch his attack before anybody even saw it coming.

With barely more than a warning growl, Zangetsu sprang forward, kicking up dust and baring his teeth for the impact.

"Zangetsu, no!" Nelliel cried, making a wild dash to follow the pup.

"Nelliel, stop!" Ichigo tightened his hold on her dress before she could slip away, yanking her back to him and curling his arm securely around her shoulders.

Racing straight by Ulquiorra, Zangetsu headed straight for the main threat to his master's safety, reaching the bulky man in mere seconds and leaping into the air to take him down at the source of the potential danger; his forearm.

Unfortunately, the large man was a lot faster than any of them had given him credit for, and, instead of drawing his gun, pulled a sizeable knife from his belt. Zangetsu got no further than the initial sinking of his sharp teeth into the man's skin, before he was slashed viciously right across the chest. With a pained and startled cry, the young wolf was tossed callously from the man with a simple pitch of the arm.

"_Noooo!_" Nelliel screamed, struggling against her father's iron grip as tears welled up in her shimmering wheaten orbs. "_Zangetsuuuu!_"

Ichigo, holding fast to the distraught little girl, levelled an icy glare on the heartless gang member. "You bastard," he seethed, directing the barrel of the revolver at Yammy's indifferent form. "You'll pay for what you've done!"

His finger squeezed tighter around the trigger, figuring that he would have time to shoot the enormous man and aim back at Ulquiorra before he even managed to draw out his weapon. Only he never got the chance to test his theory, his breath catching in his throat when the unmistakable chill of a gun's muzzle was pressed against the back of his head.

The newcomer tsked, pushing his weapon harder into orange spikes. "Now, now…that's not very sporting. Drawing a gun on someone when they're unprepared? How despicable."

Ichigo grit his teeth, a cold sense of defeat washing over him. "Despicable, huh? That's rich, coming from a bunch of two-bit lowlives like you!"

A low snarl was heard before a sharp blow was delivered to the back of Ichigo's skull, making his ears ring and his vision swim. "You don't know shit about us, kid. So I suggest ya watch that mouth of yours before I smack it stupid!"

"That's enough, Aaroniero," Ulquiorra scolded, hard emerald staring down defiant aqua. "Our orders are clear. They are not to be seriously harmed."

Aaroniero scoffed. "Tch. The fuckin' brat doesn't know the meaning of 'serious'. Not yet, anyway…"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Noveno. Disarm the boy, and then go and fetch his horse. We have to depart as soon as possible."

Aaroniero huffed at Ulquiorra's condescending tone, but snatched the revolver from Ichigo's hand regardless, snapping the barrel out and emptying it of its .32 calibre rounds before tossing the now useless weapon off in a random direction. Next he stripped the young man of his rifle, slinging it over his own shoulder as he sauntered off toward the corral for his ride.

Ulquiorra watched with a casual indifference, before motioning to Yammy to step forward. "Grab the girl."

A low rumble resounded in Ichigo's chest as he watched a wide smirk pull at Yammy's lips, hugging the sobbing child to him with both arms so that he was shielding her with his whole body.

"Get outta my way, kid," Yammy grunted as he approached the pair. "Unless ya wanna end up like your little pooch over there."

"You can go to hell," Ichigo hissed, drawing Nelliel even closer when she whimpered in fear. "Lay even one finger on her, and I'll rip your arm right off with my bare hands!"

Yammy rolled his eyes and drew his gun, his inner deviant braying with delight at the sheer look of panic flashing through ochre eyes. "Ya know what, spiky-head? Your voice really gets on my nerves…" Grasping the deadly weapon by the barrel, he raised it up high. "It's time for you to _shut up!_"

Bringing the butt down swiftly against Ichigo's temple, the younger male had no time in which to react before his world faded to black and he promptly passed out, landing in a heap beside Nelliel's shrieking form.

"Ichigo!" she cried, falling to her knees beside his unconscious form as she vigorously shook his shoulder. "Wake up, Itsygo! Pl-Please! Wake up!"

Ulquiorra heaved a heavy sigh, casting his comrade a contemptuous look. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Fuckin' kid was gettin' mouthy," Yammy defended, folding his arms. "He deserved it."

"Idiot," Ulquiorra admonished coldly. "You could have at least _caught_ him. If the boy contracts a concussion from your loutish treatment, then I will personally see your share of the bounty cut in half."

"What! No fair, Ulquiorra!"

A small chuckle caught both men's attention, and they turned to see Aaroniero leading a fully tacked, but extremely angsty, Getsuga in their direction.

"Yo, what did'a miss?" he asked, his eyes glued to the crumpled form of the oranged haired male. "Hey, wasn't he alive when I left ya's? The fuck happened?"

"Yammy and his uncouth behaviour is what happened. And he is very much still alive, just a bit…_incapacitated_ at the moment."

Aaroniero frowned. "Figures. I always miss the good stuff."

Ulquiorra fixed his stony emerald orbs on the raven haired man. "Stop pining over trivial matters. We have already wasted more time here than is absolutely necessary. Bind the boy's hands and feet, Yammy, and then secure him on his horse. I will take care of the girl."

Nelliel's mind was whirling. She couldn't believe this was happening. Ichigo was badly hurt, Zangetsu too, and it was all her fault! If they hadn't been trying so hard to protect her, then they wouldn't be in this mess! If only her father was here, he would have known what to do, he would have saved them all… But he wasn't, and now her puppy was dying and Ichigo was out cold. She felt hot tears of helplessness roll down her cheeks as she clutched at her second father's shirt, her heart breaking and her will crumbling. It was all her fault…

"Apple."

Nelliel's blood ran ice cold at the apathetic voice that sounded her nickname, and, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in her throat, she turned teary eyes slowly toward the source.

_Those eyes_. She's always hated those eyes, feared them even. They held her frozen in place, like an invisible force was bearing down on her shoulders, pinning her – no, _crushing_ her. She'd hoped to never see those eyes again, ever since the day her father had been shot, abandoned, and then left to die. They haunted her dreams, her every _nightmare_.

She _despised _those eyes.

"M-Master Ulquiorra…" she breathed, her lungs constricting harshly as her heart fluctuated wildly.

"Come with me, little girl," Ulquiorra instructed with a cold disposition, not flinching in the slightest when the child suddenly spat at his feet.

Nelliel fixed those soul-crushing emerald orbs with the darkest glare she could muster in her petrified state. "Never. I'd rather die."

"It would seem that you have a lot of your father's spirit in you, child. That is most unfortunate." Grabbing Nelliel by the front of her dress, he hauled her to her feet, the young girl kicking and screaming in protest. A brutal backhand from the pale man soon silenced her objections. "It is pointless to struggle, Nelliel, you know this better than most. I suggest you cease any further disturbances, or I will make sure to take your punishment out on the boy instead. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Nelliel glanced over at her father laying limply over Getsuga's back, Yammy having used the time she was distracted to carry out his given task. Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth at the sobering sight of Ichigo so battered and broken, all of which was _her_ doing in the first place, she gave a slow and sombre nod to her captive.

"Very good," Ulquiorra said as he released her, completely confident of her obedience. "Now, come with me."

Resigning herself to her fate, Nelliel followed behind him, keeping her eyes downcast so that she didn't have to witness the lifeless form of her parent, or the nauseating sight of her Zangetsu bleeding to death in the dirt. Both had guilt panging in her heart and her stomach roiling.

Forcing herself not to make a sound when she was hoisted up onto a midnight black mare she knew to be called Murciélago, Nelliel closed her eyes and prayed with all her might for her father to return –_ for a miracle_. She had little doubt of such a thing actually happening, however, when Ulquiorra mounted behind her, her wheaten orbs fluttering open to find Yammy on horseback beside them, Getsuga's reins attached securely around the horn of his saddle.

Aaroniero was just about to mount his own horse, a tobiano pinto mare, when Ulquiorra stopped him.

"You are to remain here, Noveno."

Aaroniero scowled. "What? Why the fuck for?"

"Someone's gotta tell ol' Blue the score," Yammy answered for him, a devious smirk curling his lips. He shifted a sly gaze toward his pale comrade, raising a boorish brow. "Ain't that right, Ulquiorra?"

Ulquiorra was sorely tempted to smack the bumbling oaf right in the gut for being so damn obvious. _The fool_. "That is correct. We need someone to wait for the former Sexta to arrive so that he is clear as to who has taken his precious family, and what we want in return for their safe retrieval. It should go without saying, but I feel that I should mention it, just in case – do _not_ inform him of our whereabouts. I assume you can handle such a task?"

Aaroniero sneered at the none too subtle insinuation that he was incompetent. Fucking Ulquiorra and his superior attitude, always putting him down like he wasn't worthy. He was a fucking Espada too, wasn't he? Just because the diminutive bastard was of a higher rank than himself, didn't mean that he was completely useless! He'd show him. One of these days, he'd show Ulquiorra _exactly_ what he was capable of…

Sucking irritably on his teeth, the spiky haired male gritted out, "Yes, of course I can handle it."

"Good." Ulquiorra pivoted his horse around and started off, with Yammy right by his side. He spared one last glance over his shoulder at their comrade – and the soon-to-be _former_ Noveno.

_Two birds, one stone_, he mused to himself before continuing onward without so much as a second thought for the man left behind. He'd always been trash, anyway.

* * *

><p>A lone figure, sitting on the back of a sixteen hand, dapple grey Thoroughbred stallion, watched the entire exchange from his discreet position on the eastern hill with narrowed eyes and a sneer on his lips. So, the Espada thought they could mess with other people's property and get away without suffering the consequences, ey?<p>

_Che_. Some things never change…

This put a definite snag in the man's plans to reclaim what he'd unwittingly lost so many years ago, but oh well. He'd come expecting a fight anyway. Maybe not quite of this magnitude, but that didn't matter much to him. He'd been waiting for the ideal opportunity to put those Espada bastards in their place – and now he had the perfect excuse.

This could certainly prove to be one hell of a ride – not exactly what he'd been expecting, but he always did enjoy a challenge.

And the bloodier, the _better_.

With a small smirk gracing his lips, he spurred the hot-blooded stallion in the direction of the retreating gang members, making sure to maintain a safe, inconspicuous distance. His triumphant return would just have to wait a little while longer.

"Don' worry, Ichi. Am righ' behind yah…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, shit. This one turned out even longer than the last - and the scary part? I didn't even get _halfway_ to where I was originally going to take this chapter. Eep.**

**Anywho. Again, this was ridiculously fun to write, and I sincerely hope that ya'll who enjoyed the first two instalments can draw some entertainment value from this chapter's contents as well. Ulquiorra was _waaay_ too much fun to write - hopefully he was as in character as I strived to make him? I'm probably being biased with myself when I think that I did a good job - my mind likes to mollycoddle me somewhat. But, jus' know, I tried... ^^'**

**Please do enjoy, if yah wish~**

**Ciao my sweets**

**Toringtino~**


	4. Old Friends, New Problems

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor Red Dead Redemption - unless yah count the DVD boxsets and PS3 game. Which they don't. So again, I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

_'Old Friends, New Problems'_

"…And the next thing I know, I'm waking up, _butt naked_, beside a raging bull! It was a crazy ass night man, I'm tellin' ya. I don't even remember the half of it."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. How was it that every time he came to Hennigan's Stead, he was subjected to the raving idiocy of the man beside him? Renji Abarai was, without a doubt, one of _the_ dumbest men he had ever met in his life. At the same height as himself, around 6'2", with long, ruby red hair usually swept up into a pineapple reminiscent ponytail, and a work-sculpted body covered from forehead to midriff in tribal tattoos, the man certainly looked like a force to be reckoned with.

Until he opened that damnable trap of his, that was.

Renji was one of the stablehands here at Hennigan's, and thus was a hard man to avoid when rolling into town, much to Grimmjow's annoyance. It's not that Renji wasn't a sound guy or anything, but more that when he started running his mouth off it was hard to shut him up again. Like a broken faucet, he just keep spewing more and more nonsense, until you finally got so aggravated you just had to whack him with something hard.

Take now for instance. Renji had met Grimmjow when he arrived, offering to unhitch the horses and let them have a free roam in the corral whilst Grimmjow got himself sorted at the store. Grimmjow had agreed, only to scoff derisively when the redhead immediately fobbed the workload off on two other men so that he could bother him instead. Grimmjow had then made the _colossal_ mistake of asking the younger man how his weekend had been, to then immediately have his ear damn near yakked off as the tattoo infested moron spun his yarn of mass whiskey consumption, daring fistfights and chasing skirt.

Grimmjow had his doubts about the sincerity of at _least_ ninety percent of the 'gallant tale'.

Sighing, Grimmjow only just resisted the urge to bash either one of their heads into the nearest blunt object, reminding himself again and again that the man was a good friend of Ichigo's, and that to harm him in any way was only asking for an earful when he got home. God it was tempting though…

The two men were currently relaxing by the fence of the large corral in the centre of town, one used exclusively for housing the copious horses owned by the ranch. Grimmjow had a foot resting on the bottom slat of the wooden enclosure, his forearms draped casually over the top as he lazily surveyed the different breeds of horse mill around in the high afternoon sun. Renji, dressed in tan canvas pants, dark brown boots and white shirt – which was currently absent from his built frame and tucked down the back of his pants – was propped up beside him, his back pressed against the fence and strong arms folded across his bare chest.

Wanting to steer the conversation in a completely different direction after the ghastly mental image of Renji _sans clothes_, Grimmjow nodded his head out toward a spritely little filly that caught his eye. "She looks to be quite the beauty," he commented, pointing her out when Renji turned a questioning brow on him. "The chestnut pony with the white stockings. What's her deal?"

Renji frowned at the man's choice. "You mean the Welsh Mountain? Uh, ain't she a little…_small_ for the likes of you?"

"Not fer me, ya damn idiot," Grimmjow retorted, shaking his head. "I meant fer the sprog. Her birthday's comin' up soon, an' am thinkin' it's about time she had her own set'a four legs to get around on. That, an' she'll finally stop buggin' me to take her out at the ass crack of dawn."

Renji smirked at his grumpy tone. "Ah, wee Nels. Still givin' ya grey hairs with her antics I take it?"

"Ya better believe it," Grimmjow snorted, but grinned nonetheless. "So, how much fer the beast?"

Falling into business mode, Renji scratched contemplatively at his chin. "She'll be goin' for the standard rate of five, I reckon."

"Hundred?" Grimmjow sputtered indignantly, his nose wrinkling in disbelief. "Fer that lil' thing? Christ. Is it even broken in yet?"

"Just last week," Renji confirmed with a nod, watching the three year old filly as she trotted around the enclosure. Glancing at Grimmjow's scowling face, he threaded his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Okay, seein' how you're a loyal customer, and given that it's gonna be a present for little Nelly, I could probably bump down the price to, ohhh…four even?"

Grimmjow cocked a brow, resting his elbow on the fence so he could twist his body to better face the redhead. "Make it three an' we'll talk."

Renji narrowed his eyes. "Three-seven-five, _and_ I'll throw in the tack."

Grimmjow scrubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, contemplating the offer, before adding his final bid. "Three-fifty, _with_ tack, and I don't give ya a black eye fer tryin' to rob me blind…"

Renji paled somewhat, before sticking out his hand. "Deal."

"Yer a wise man, Abarai," Grimmjow smirked, clasping the mans hand in a firm shake. "Take her off the market, an' I'll pick her up in the next couple'a weeks after I've talked it over with the Berry."

"Speaking of which, uh…how is Ichigo these days?" Renji asked, peering over at the blunette. "I haven't seen him around in a while."

Grimmjow tensed at the mention of his orange haired lover. Even though it was his own damn fault for mentioning him in the first place, it was something of an automatic reaction that he just couldn't seem to break himself of. Very few people knew where Ichigo resided now, and even less knew with _whom_ he resided. Grimmjow had made sure of both. There were too many complications that could arise if they were ever discovered, and hence secrecy was agreed to be the best policy. The very nature of their relationship was a factor in this, given that most folk would rather run them out of town than accept the concept of a same-sex union. It didn't matter that they loved one another, or were committed to each other more than most heterosexual couples they knew. People were narrow-minded, and feared change, and unfortunately that wasn't something Grimmjow could easily change with harsh words or a powerful right hook.

The other major factor was, of course, Grimmjow's past. He really couldn't afford to have someone from that part of his life sniffing around, asking questions as to his whereabouts, only to have some no-brained, clueless idiot blab it out, effectively handing the blunette and his family over on a silver platter.

Thus only those on a strictly need-to-know basis knew anything of their life together. Grimmjow had argued that _no one_ fit that bill, that no one _needed_ to know a damn thing about them, but of course Ichigo had protested, claiming that his family had the right to know where he was running off to. It had taken a while, and more than a fair share of 'persuasion' on Ichigo's part, before Grimmjow finally conceded to the request.

To be perfectly honest, he didn't at all mind that Ichigo's little sister, Yuzu, knew where they lived, what with her glorious talent for all things food. And then there was Karin, Yuzu's fraternal twin. With a mouth worse than any sailor he'd ever encountered, and her love for hunting and sports, she was just aces in his book. Sometimes Grimmjow could swear she was more man than his beautiful lover. The brat's father however, one Isshin Kurosaki, he could have happily left _that_ one in the dark for the rest of his days. With his tendency to take spontaneous fits of dramatic emotion better suited for the theatre than under his own roof, and harbouring the insane notion that random surprise attacks on his children was a good way of 'keeping them on their toes', the older man was just downright, batshit _crazy_. If he'd never found out where they'd moved to, it would be too soon.

And so it had been established; only Ichigo's family were to ever know. Of course, when Grimmjow then found out that his peachy lover had spilled the beans to the moronic redhead, one of his "oldest and most trustworthy friends", he'd fucking flipped his lid. But, after a lengthy 'chat' with said redhead, consisting of exactly what would happen to the man – and his genitals – should he ever slip up and give away their location to _anyone_ that asked, Grimmjow was quickly reassured of Renji's allegiance. Shit, the guy was one of the very few people outside of the Kurosaki family and his old gang that even knew his _name_.

Giving the man a sidelong glance, Grimmjow supposed he wasn't _all_ bad.

"Ichigo's fine," he answered at last, turning his attention back to the corral to watch with a keen interest as one of the other stablehands led Kon and Pantera into the crowded corral. "He's takin' care of the offspring whilst I get settled up here."

Renji smiled, nodding. "Y'know, I haven't seen that little terror of yours in too long. Fuck, the last time I saw her I swear she'd grown a whole foot! What the hell do ya feed her?"

"Me? Heh. I feed her fuck all," Grimmjow replied with a snort, smirking as he witnessed the poor stablehand struggling to hold Pantera after releasing Kon, the headstrong mare obviously taking offence to the fact that she was still held up whilst her fellow companion was allowed free rein. "Ichigo's in charge of all that mothery type crap. I'm too busy bein' a _man_ to know how to cook."

Renji chuckled, his russet eyes shining with mirth. "Shit dude, if Ichigo heard ya sayin' that, ya'd be eatin' dirt right now for sure."

"He could try," Grimmjow shrugged with a mischievous grin, to which Renji responded by cocking a dubious brow. Grimmjow couldn't blame him, after all, he knew better than most that his pretty Berry had an exceptionally short fuse, and that insinuating that the young male was good at motherly duties – or anything feminine at all really – was a sure-fire way to get a face full of fist. Still, that fiery attitude and dirty mouth of Ichigo's when particularly riled up, was one of the things that Grimmjow loved most about the man.

"Fuckin' 'ell, Blue! That horse of yours is a freakin' nutjob!"

Snapping out of his daze, Grimmjow glanced up to see Pantera, headcollar and leadrope still on, galloping full tilt around the enclosure, kicking up a whole storm of dust as she happily swished her tail and playfully nipped at the other horses as she passed. Soon enough, the manic little hell spawn had the whole fucking corral in a tizzy, with bands of stampeding horses and throngs of flustered help trying to calm the beasts down. Grimmjow couldn't help but smirk, showing off menacingly sharp canines as he gave Renji a mock-sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Well, she's yer problem now, Red," he chuckled, pushing away from the fence. Sending the bewildered man a two fingered salute over his shoulder, Grimmjow commented, "Oh an' watch out, she ain't afraid to bite if ya get too close."

A pained yelp followed by the curse of, "Damn horse!" had Grimmjow throwing his head back in mocking laughter as he made his way over to the store.

Plucking the cigarette from behind his ear, he stuck it between his teeth and, striking a match from the supply in his vest pocket, lit up. Sighing happily as the thick smoke filled his lungs, the blunette slowed his pace to a lazy saunter, wanting to enjoy each and every toxic inhale. He only got roughly two and a half pulls of nicotine infused tar, however, before he was interrupted by a soft, feminine voice calling out to him.

"Oi! Jack!"

It had taken a while to get used to the pseudo name he'd given himself – mostly to stop people from making up the most ridiculous nicknames he'd ever had the displeasure of hearing – but had become accustomed to it over the past lot of months. Everybody here knew Ichigo anyway, so that had never been a problem, but as long as people didn't know _his_ name, then there was no risk of anybody ever letting slip that they'd seen him around. He knew that having blue fucking hair was a bit of giveaway, but again no one knew where he lived – so crisis averted.

Tilting his head up, Grimmjow watched as a petite female made her way over. _Rukia Kuchiki_. The twenty-one year old woman was just about the smallest adult he'd ever come across, standing at shocking 4'8". Seriously, he'd met _teenagers_ taller than the girl. With midnight black tresses that fell just long enough to rest on slim shoulders, and big, intriguing violet eyes that always seemed to be gleaming with some kind of mischief, she was definitely a looker - just had a little too much tits and vagina for Grimmjow's liking.

The midget lived here on the ranch, in a large, hand built family home with her older brother, Byakuya. Said brother was the current owner and proprietor of the immense plains of Hennigan's Stead – including a general store, small sheriff's office, train station and even a doctor's office – after it had been passed down to him from their father, the man having died rather tragically of pneumonia a few years back. Grimmjow didn't care much for Byakuya, finding him to be rather droll and snobbish. The way those cold, slate grey eyes of his would bore into his soul, like the man was reading his past life of degeneracy and sin like an open book, tended to invoke a rather nasty case of trigger-itch in the blunette – not to mention weirded him out. Rukia was tolerable though, not much – if at all – like her brother.

"Well, aren't you quite the gentleman," Rukia huffed as she finally caught up to the passively waiting Grimmjow, her small fists resting on slim hips. "Making a lady walk all the way over to your sorry ass instead of meeting her half way. Seriously, Jack, who the hell raised you? A pack of wolves?"

Okay…_mostly_ she was tolerable.

"The hell d'ya want, Kuchiki?" Grimmjow asked, taking another long drag of his cigarette. "I got shit to do, an' that doesn't include wastin' my breath talkin' to some delusional midget, who only _thinks_ she's a lady because she's never actually met one…"

Rukia scowled, slamming her fist into Grimmjow's right pectoral. She would have gone for the face, but unfortunately she was much too small to reach, and Grimmjow was too smart to fall for the whole, "C'mere, I wanna tell you something private…"

At least, he wouldn't fall for it _twice_.

"Who the hell said I even wanted to talk to _you_," the midget raven scowled, crossing her arms over a dismally underdeveloped bust.

Grimmjow arched a blue tinted brow. "Yer the one that called out to me, princess. Sorry fer assumin' that meant ya wanted me fer somethin'."

"Don't call me princess, jerk!" was the fervid retort, accompanied by a harsh dig in the ribs this time that actually had the blunette wincing. "I was _going_ to ask you if you'd seen Renji anywhere? The plumbing's giving me gyp again, and big brother's away, so I need his help fixing it."

"The plumbin', ey?" Grimmjow asked, giving the small woman a knowing look. "Why don't'cha jus' get one'a the other guys to give ya a hand? I mean, that's what ya hire them for, ne?"

Grimmjow smirked as he witnessed a small dusting of pink appearing under those violet hued doe eyes. "That's none of your business! Renji's best suited for the job, okay? He's good with his hands."

"Yeah, am sure ya'd know all about that, huh Kuchiki?" Grimmjow leered, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Fuck me, you've gotta be the oldest cliché in the fuckin' book – the sister of a wealthy businessman, shackin' up with the lowly stable boy. Classic."

"Sh-Shut up, jackass! That's not it at all!"

Grimmjow snorted, letting the smoke from his latest inhale billow from his nose. "Whatever ya say, midget. Lover boy – sorry, I mean _Renji_, is out in the corral tryin' to tame Pantera. Better go save 'im quick, before Pantera ruins those 'talented hands' of his."

"Why you…" Rukia glared at the blunette, raising her fist to unleash yet another devastating blow to his person, when something just beyond Grimmjow's left shoulder caught her eye, giving her pause. Frowning, she slowly lowered her hand, making Grimmjow cock a brow in question. "Um, Jack? Were you expecting company?"

Grimmjow blinked, having not expected that. "No. Why would'ja think that?"

"Oh, maybe because there's a man over there trying to set you on fire with his gaze alone…"

Now, as previously mentioned, Grimmjow wasn't a man entirely sold on clichés. But, having said that, there were a few that he just couldn't deny. For instance, 'money is the root of all evil' – he'd seen more than his share of a good man turn pompous prick where the American dollar was concerned – and 'all's fair in love and war' – he'd never had to test that one personally, but knew with absolute certainty that there was _nothing_ he wouldn't do for his Berry, that where Ichigo was concerned, _everything_ was permitted and _no one_ would be spared.

In this particular instance though, it was neither one of these that applied.

As soon as those words left Rukia's mouth, Grimmjow felt it, that age-old feeling of someone watching him ripping through his body like a sobering dose of buckshot. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a cold sensation, not unlike a trickle of ice cold water, tingle unpleasantly down the length of his spine. The foreboding feeling was so strong, so _potent_, it had his cerulean eyes narrowing to slits even before he cautiously peered over his shoulder.

Grimmjow could feel his jaw clenching alongside his fists, a dark, rumbling growl building up in his chest as he caught sight of the source of his sudden discomfort. A ridiculously tall, stick-thin man with long, jet black hair was leaning casually against a wooden telegraph pole not twenty feet behind him. The wide brim of the man's white hat was shadowing his eyes, but Grimmjow didn't need to see them to know that the one functioning orb was trained solely on him.

"Rukia," Grimmjow spoke, his voice coming out in a badly repressed growl. "Go to Renji. Now."

Rukia baulked slightly at the venomous tone of the blunette, her wide eyes clouding over with anxiety at the sudden change in atmosphere. "Jack…? Is everything al–"

"I said _now_, Kuchiki," Grimmjow stated, cutting the petite woman off, his steely gaze never once wavering from the lanky man. "No matter what ya hear or see, do _not_ leave his side, ya hear me?"

Rukia gave a shaky nod. "Y-Yes. Okay, Jack."

Rukia took off at a brisk walk, leaving Grimmjow to face the man alone. Taking one last, lengthy pull of his cigarette, Grimmjow flicked the still burning stick off to the side before making his way over to the man he was adverse to admit he knew all too well. Nnoitra Gilga, aka Quinto Espada. Dressed in full white chaps over black jeans, a black shirt, white tie and black boots, the man waited until Grimmjow was nearly right in front of him before he pushed away from the pole, a wide, piano-toothed grin plastered across his lips as he sneered at the blunette.

"Well, well, well…" he drawled, tilting his head back to reveal long, narrow features and a black bandana tied securely over his left eye. "If it ain't our favourite Sexta. How ya doin', Grimmy? It's been way too long."

"Not nearly long enough if ya ask me," Grimmjow spat, his teeth grinding. "The fuck're ya doin' on this side'a the border, Gilga?"

Nnoitra's grin faltered in mordant cynicism. "Aw, c'mon now, Sexta. That any way ta greet an old buddy? We was real close once upon a time."

And it was true. There had been a time when he and the Quinto had been as thick as, well, thieves. A time when Grimmjow would have done anything to ensure the safety of his closest comrade and friend. But, as was proven all those months ago, it would seem that the feeling was less than mutual, and that thought alone was making the blunette positively sick with rage.

"Che, some fuckin' 'buddy' _you_ turned out to be!" Grimmjow growled, his anger reaching breaking point in record time. "What kind'a man leaves his 'buddy' to bleed out on the side of the road as soon as the goin' gets rough, huh? What kind of 'buddy' leaves his comrade to fuckin' die!"

Nnoitra rolled his one visible eye, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Fucks sake, Grimm. Yer never gonna let that one go, are ya? Look, the mission went tits up an' we had ta bail. You'd've done the exact same thing in our position, an' you an' I _both_ know it. So stop actin' all high an' mighty, like yer any fuckin' better than me, 'cause ya ain't."

Grimmjow's nostril's flared. He had nothing to say to that, because honestly? He had no idea what he would've done if the roles had been reversed. He'd like to think he'd have helped out a comrade in need if the opportunity had arisen, but – depending on who it was – he couldn't really say for sure that he wouldn't have just left them to their fate as he had been. Still, it stung like a bitch to know that his so-called 'friends' had left him perish without so much as a backward glance.

"No one even came back fer me…" Grimmjow muttered, surprising the both of them. Nnoitra at how utterly pathetic it had sounded, and Grimmjow at the fact that he had said it at all. It was something that had always bothered him, but that he'd never told a single soul about – not even Ichigo. Fuck, it _would_ be his luck that it came out now of all times, in front of this snide asshole of all fucking people. Really, that's just _peachy_.

"Jesus, Jaegerjaques," Nnoitra sneered, his lip curling in evident disgust. "What the fuck'as happened to ya? Yer actin' like some pansy ass bitch. Whaddya want from me? An apology? A fuckin' _hug?_ Shit. We thought ya were a goner, that if ya didn't bleed ta death then the fuckin' wolves would'a had at ya. Why would we come back fer a fuckin' carcass, huh?"

Grimmjow was beyond seething at this point. How dare that lanky bastard stand there and imply that he was some kind of defenceless fucking chick that couldn't even look after herself! It was taking every single ounce of self-control he'd learned over the course of his life – which admittedly wasn't a lot – not to sock the fucker square in his good eye.

"Okay, so if ya'll thought I was as good as dead," Grimmjow grit out through clenched teeth, refusing to rise to the bait, "then what the fuck're ya doin' here? If ya've come to recruit me back into the ranks or some shit, then ya can jus' ferget about it. There ain't no way am comin' back to a bunch of spineless, backstabbin' cunts the likes of which you turned out to be."

Nnoitra feigned hurt, clutching dramatically at his chest. "Ouch. That really smarts, Sexta." Grimmjow let out a low warning growl, urging the lanky Quinto to get on with it already, before he really lost his temper. Nnoitra quickly dropped the façade, eyeing the former Espada with genuine disparagement. "Ya know, I never would'a guessed ya the type, Grimmjow. I mean, I know ya had that fuckin' brat sprung on ya like a bad disease, but ta go out an' get yerself a lil' wife too? I never would'a believed it had I not seen it with my own eye."

Striking with the kind of speed a rattler would be proud of, Grimmjow had the man by the throat, his iron grip biting into flesh and constricting airways. "The fuck did ya do, Gilga? I swear to god, if ya've touched either one'a them, I'll rip yer fuckin' throat out right here an' now! Talk!"

Nnoitra, wrapping long, bony fingers around Grimmjow's wrist and applying just enough pressure to make the man let up so that he could speak, replied with a haughty, "Well, look at you, Mr. _Family Man_…"

"I said _talk!_" Grimmjow spat, yanking the man down to eyelevel. "What did you do to Ichigo and Nel? Tell me!"

For his spindly frame and slim build, Nnoitra was deceptively strong, something that most people who crossed the Quinto Espada took for granted – mistook for a weakness. It was by far their biggest error in judgment, and _his_ greatest advantage. And, by the almost startled look of the blunette's face as Nnoitra easily twisted his wrist and shoved him back, it was a fact that even his own comrades forgot every now and then.

The raven haired male snorted as he straightened out his shirt, pinning the fuming blunette with a dark gaze. "I ain't done jack shit to yer precious little family, Jaegerjaques. Think about it, stupid. Ya really think I'd have the time ta go an' mess around with them, an' then get all the way back out here ta fuck with you, eh? Shit, an' the guys call me 'dumb'…"

"If I go home to find out yer lyin' to me…" Grimmjow threatened, returning the man's hard stare. "…I'll hunt ya down myself, an' ya can kiss that other eyeball a'yers goodbye."

Nnoitra absentmindedly skimmed his fingers over the bandana covering his damaged beyond repair eye, glaring coldly at his old comrade.

The two men simply glowered at one another for a few moments, the palpable, menacing aura surrounding them thick enough to slice through with a knife. Grimmjow broke the contact first, promptly turning on his heel before he was dredged into more memories he would rather just scour from his mind completely. Fuck, just _seeing_ the Quinto had his whole body set alight with an ominous sense of apprehension, had his skin prickling uncomfortably and his veins pumping with heated adrenaline. Fuck everything he'd come here for, he had to get home _right now_. He had to see with his own two eyes that his Berry and Apple were safe, had to hold each one in his arms, feel their tangible presence, before the uneasy feeling of dread poisoning his blood would ever leave him.

He got no more than three steps when Nnoitra suddenly spoke up again, his words cutting through him like the serrated blade of a machete. "Oi, Sexta, I'd walk a lil' faster than _that_ if I was you. After all, I only said that _I_ didn't touch 'em. I can't guarantee that our dear Cuatro hasn't already, though. He should be with them as we speak."

Grimmjow's heart plummeted deep into his gut, a numbing sense of despair washing over him as he suddenly broke out into a run, heading straight for the corral. Nnoitra's boisterous cackle sounded out behind him.

"Tick, tock, Grimmjow!" he shouted after the retreating blunette, his grey eye narrowing as a malicious smirk tore across thin lips. "Tick, tock…"

* * *

><p>When Ichigo came to, it was with a pained moan and a delusional state of reality. For an entirely too short while, he honestly couldn't remember a thing, believing wholeheartedly that he was still at home, in his own bed that smelled faintly of soap and a whole heap of Grimmjow's earthy musk. He believed that the warmth radiating beside him was the feral blunette himself, and that the window leaking in warm rays of sunshine was from the large window situated above their headboard.<p>

And then, slowly but surely, the real world came crashing down around his ears. He realised that not only was the bed too small, but that the mattress was too hard and springy, and smelt all wrong, like mildew and dust. He realised that the body beside him, whilst warm and familiar, was much too petite to be Grimmjow, that it was shaking as small sobs escaped it, the salty tears soaking through the material of his shirt on his left shoulder where the head was resting. The strong smell of wild berries had him groggily blinking his eyes open.

"N-Nel?" he managed to croak out, his voice so horridly scratchy he doubted that his own mother would recognise it.

The little head snapped up at the sound of his voice, wheaten eyes brimming with tears staring down at the orange haired male as he slowly propped himself up on his elbows, one hand soothing his abused and pounding temple.

"Itsygo?" Nelliel sniffled, her tiny fingers playing timidly with the hem of her dress as her parent groaned out in obvious pain. "A-Are you okay? Maybe you should lie back down, you don't sound so good…"

Ichigo, in spite of the dire situation they found themselves in, felt a small smile break out across his lips. Trust Nelliel to put his own comfort and safety above her own. Not matter how much he berated his teal haired lover over the young girl's frankly gruesome upbringing, Grimmjow really did do an amazing job raising her.

Ichigo winced as a cold stab of pain shot through his chest at the thought of the blunette, making his heart constrict excruciatingly behind his ribs. Where the fuck was that damn bastard when they really needed him? Shit, were they even going to get out of here alive? Would he ever see his blue haired lover again; see those captivating aquamarine orbs and that shit-eating grin? Or would he die here, in this dank and dreary place? Each and every question was making his stomach roil and his mind whirl. How were they ever going to get out of this?

"Ichigo…?"

The soft whimpering of his name – pronounced properly at that – had Ichigo quickly snapping out of his stupor. Glancing over into the wide, scared eyes of his daughter, the tear tracks staining her cheeks visibly shining as they caught the light spilling in through the tiny window, he suddenly felt like slapping himself. Hard. What the fuck was he thinking, taking a mental breakdown like that when he had his little girl to protect? She would always come first, as long as he had a single breath left in his body, he would shield her from the evil in the world with body and soul.

"Don't worry, Apple, I'm fine. Really. It's you I'm worried about. Are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Nelliel shook her head, praying that her other father wouldn't notice the red blooming across her cheek from the devastating blow dealt from Ulquiorra. The last thing she wanted to see was the orange haired male getting mad and taking on the ever stoic, but extremely dangerous, Cuatro.

"N-No. I'm o-okay…" She blinked rapidly as hot tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, her bottom lip quivering as she tried in vain to hold them back. "I'm scared, Itsygo…I wanna go home…"

Ichigo felt his heart splintering into pieces at that, and held out his arms to the small girl. "C'mere, Nelly."

Gathering the trembling child up into his arms, he slowly rocked her back and forth, trailing his fingers softly through her hair as he hummed an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was upset. Nelliel clutched desperately at Ichigo's shirt, her tiny hands fisting the material as she buried her tear soaked face into his chest. Curling her legs up so that she rested in his lap in a moderate foetal position, her small chest heaving as soul-aching sobs racked her entire frame, she let herself be held within the safe confines of her parent's embrace, frantically seeking out the comfort her was pouring into her.

After a long bout of poor consolation and shoddy reassurance, Nelliel's broken, tentative voice hoarsely piped up. "Do you think that daddy is coming for us, Itsygo? I-I wish he was here, too. I miss him…"

Ichigo swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, hugging her soft frame closer to him, suddenly needing the solace of her warmth. He knew exactly how she felt.

Placing a long, heartfelt kiss on the crown of her head, he inhaled deeply, letting her unique smell soothe him, before using two fingers under her chin to tilt her head up to face him. Setting his ochre pools on tear clouded wheat, he poured all of the assurance and reliance he felt in his heart for the blunette, for the faith he had in his lover's ability to not only find them, but to get them all safely out of this mess, he put it all into his gaze, so that when he spoke, his words held the same resolute conviction his eyes did.

"Yes, Nelliel," he stated, rubbing his thumbs gently under her eyes. "I think – no, I _know_ that your father is coming for us. Do you really think he'd let anybody steal you away from him? You're his precious little Apple; he'll never let anything happen to you for as long as he lives." He offered her a genuine smile, tenderly kissing her forehead. "He may not always say it, but he loves you, more than _anything_ in the world."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Nelliel's mouth as she reached up to curl her arms around Ichigo's neck, hugging the young man close. "He loves you too, Itsy. You saved him when no one else would, and made us a proper family. I've never seen daddy smile so much since you came along. It makes me happy."

Ichigo could feel his heart swelling with warmth and pride at her words, and he crushed the little girl against him. "Thank you, Nels. I think I needed to hear that." Gently drawing her back, he rested his forehead against her own, affectionately rubbing their noses together. "Why don't'cha get some rest, ne? God only knows how long we'll be left alone here, and you'll need some sleep if they plan on moving us again anytime soon. Don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe. I'll watch over you. I won't let you out of my sight for even a second."

Nelliel gave a small nod, curling her body up tight to the inviting warmth of her orange haired father. She nuzzled down into his chest, grasping his shirt and holding it close to her nose so that the familiar scent of vanilla and sugar filled her senses and soothed her tattered soul.

"I love you, Itsy-Pa," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering closed as she felt slender fingers weave through her long locks.

Ichigo gazed down at her, a soft smile dancing across his lips at the way she was nestled up in his lap, not unlike a lounging kitten. "I love you too, Nel."

Letting a deep breath out slowly through nose, he could only hope that their captors would leave them peace, at least long enough for his little girl to get a decent amount of shut-eye.

Settling back against the wall, he wrapped his arms securely around her, silently enforcing his promise as he rested his cheek on top of her head and whispered to the air, "Please hurry, Grimm. We need you…"

* * *

><p>Grimmjow had never worked a horse so hard in his whole damn life. Not when running from the law, or away from the latest banktrain/person he'd robbed. _Never_.

As soon as he'd left Nnoitra, he'd run straight for the corral, barking at Renji to get him a bridle and fast. Sensing the urgency in the blunette's tone, Renji had done as he was told, no questions asked. Grimmjow had stepped into the large paddock, the horses and stablehands still charging around all thanks to the mare he called 'steed'. Standing amidst the ensuing chaos, Grimmjow curled his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, giving one loud, sharp whistle. Pantera, who had been happily ducking and weaving around the numerous hands trying to catch her alongside Kon and a nameless Dutch Warmblood, stopped dead in her tracks at the shrill call, recognising it instantly to be that of her blue haired master. Skidding to a halt, she threw her head up and whinnied, her keen animal instincts telling her that Grimmjow was in no mood to mess around.

To say that Grimmjow was surprised when Pantera reacted to his call would be a grand understatement, but still, he was relieved that he didn't have to go chasing the stupid beast around, not when he had his family's safety pressing down so heavily on his shoulders. If worse had come to worst, he would've just grabbed the nearest horse and settled up with Rukia later, but he was glad to have his own ride. For all her faults, Pantera was quick on her feet, and incredibly agile to boot. She was his best bet of getting back to the house as soon as possible.

In the interest of saving time he didn't have the luxury to waste, Grimmjow forwent a saddle, needing only the bridle for the purposes of steering. Spurring the mare on at ungodly speeds, Grimmjow had taken a sharp left coming out of town, diverging from the dirt roads laid out for easy travelling and onto the rough terrain of the open plains. Pantera surged forward, her long limbs stretching out far in front of her and her hooves digging in deep to the earthy ground beneath them as she reacted the her master's commands. It was obvious that the man was in a hurry, the sharp rowels on his spurs cutting into her flanks as he demanded more and more speed. Kicking up her feet, she did as she was told, her muscles screaming in protest and her body quickly overheating as she threw herself forward faster for her desperate master.

Having took the shortcut he couldn't afford to earlier, the pair soon reached the river flowing from Aurora's Basin. Not wanting to slow the pace in fear of retaliation from the fretful blunette, Pantera dug her front hooves into the very edge of the riverbank, waiting until she could bunch up her hind legs beside them before leaping from the spot, landing in a spray of cold water nearly halfway across the river's width. The chilly water came up to just past her knees, forcing her to work even harder just to wade them through it.

Upon reaching the other side, Pantera hastily trudged out of the water, flicking her sodden tail before taking off once more, not even having to wait for the command to do so. Grimmjow could honestly say he'd never been more proud of the hot-tempered mare. In all the many months he'd owned her, she'd never once responded so magnificently to his orders. After ensuring the safety of his loved ones, he'd have to remember to reward her for stepping up to the plate when he needed her the most.

When they finally reached Beecher's Hope, roughly forty minutes later, Pantera's beautiful coat was covered from breast to dock in a thick, white sweat, her breathing coming out in harsh pants and snorts as her limbs quivered and her lungs cried out for oxygen.

Grimmjow left her by the full water trough just outside the barn, patting her sweaty neck heartily. "Rest easy, Pantera. Ya did real good."

Hurriedly dismounting, Grimmjow left the Appaloosa mare to quench her thirst and get some well deserved repose, whilst he sprinted off toward the house.

"Ichigo! Nel!" he hollered, his heart thrumming wildly at the resounding silence. Fuck, was he too late? "Ichigo! Nel! Where are you? Answer me, dammit! Ichi–"

A strained whimpering had him halting in his tracks, his eyes darting around frantically as he tried to locate the source of the noise. A hard, troubled scowl furrowed his brows as his cerulean pools landed on the ebony hide of the mutt. With a chilling sense of trepidation shooting down to the soles of his feet, Grimmjow made his way over, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the small pool of crimson liquid gathering around the wolf's chest, staining the dusty earth a mind-numbing red.

"Ah, shit," Grimmjow cursed, kneeling down beside the injured pup. "What'd they do to ya, boy?"

Zangetsu whined as the blunette ran his hand over his blood stained hide, trying to assess the extent of the damage. His breathing was shallow and pained, each inhale holding a shaky whimper as it burned through his lungs, sending bolts of white hot pain through the open wound in his chest. Grimmjow winced when he gauged just how wide and deep the cut was, his leather gloves covered in a fine film of the crimson fluid. Letting a deep breath escape him, he pet the pup's head, scratching softly behind his ears.

"Am so sorry, boy. I never should've left ya's alone." Gently gathering the wolf into his arms, Grimmjow made his way quickly but steadily indoors, trying his best not to jar the badly injured animal. Making the poor pup as comfortable as possible in the living room, Grimmjow went in search of his lover and child.

Barrelling into his own bedroom first, then Nelliel's, Grimmjow could feel his heart dropping when he came up empty. It was the same with the kitchen, the attic, the barn, the stables… With each new place he checked only to discover that neither one of his kin was huddled up in hiding, waiting for him to come and find them, his heart plummeted that little bit lower and his actions became that little more frantic.

Walking out of the barn however, after diligently searching every conceivable nook and cranny he could think of, it was now painfully obvious…

_He was too late.__ His family was gone._

Growling lowly to himself, Grimmjow knocked his hat off and raked both hands through his hair, pulling harshly at the strands as he sank to his knees in a rare moment of complete failure. "FUUUCK!"

Several startled birds took to flight at the sudden yell, the noisy flapping of their wings and calls of distress covering the sound of approaching footsteps.

Grimmjow's mind was racing a mile a minute, the Quinto's last words swarming through his head like a broken record, making his blood boil and his fingers twitch with the sudden craving to strangle the life of something, _anything_. If Nnoitra was telling the truth, and the Cuatro really _had_ been here, then he had precious little time to waste.

Picking himself up off the ground, his face and body set in grim determination, it wasn't until he took his first step forward that Grimmjow realised he wasn't as alone as he'd originally thought. Setting his eyes in a narrow glare, Grimmjow could do nothing to stop the heated hiss that pushed past his clenched teeth as he took in the spiky haired form standing not ten yards in front of him. Dressed all in black, from the hat on his head to the boots on his feet, he was exactly as Grimmjow remembered.

"_Aaroniero_," he growled, his fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists as he gazed straight into the aqua orbs of the Noveno Espada, and his former comrade.

"So you do remember my name? I'm so flattered, _brother_," Aaroniero sneered, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk.

Grimmjow felt his lip curling in pure hatred. He'd always loathed their Noveno, ever since the day he first joined their ranks. With a maniacal bloodlust and the penchant to be extremely bipolar, the man was a total liability. Not to mention certifiably _insane_.

"I wouldn't be. I jus' have the uncanny knack fer rememberin' the exceptionally ugly ones," Grimmjow bit back, his right hand hovering over the butt of his Colt. "Where are Ichigo and Nel? What have you done to them?"

"Me?" Aaroniero asked, jabbing a thumb into his chest with a feigned look of innocence. "I ain't done a single thing to your 'family'. Ulquiorra on the other hand…" He shrugged, the nonchalance of the action causing Grimmjow to bare his teeth. "Well, we both know that for someone so casually indifferent, that he's got quite the temper tucked away inside – ey, Sexta?"

"Don't. _Ever_. Call me that," Grimmjow snapped, his cerulean eyes flaring with anger. "I ain't got nuthin' to do with the gang any more, nor will I ever again. That title means jack shit to me, as do all of you. Ya got that, _Noveno?_"

Aaroniero scoffed at that, brushing back his raven bangs to reveal the number '9' branded on the top left of his forehead, the curl at the bottom reaching down to sit just below his eye. "Kind'a hard to forget a title that's forever emblazoned into your very flesh, is it not?"

Grimmjow's lower back suddenly felt like it was on fire, and he only just managed to stop himself from reaching back to soothe it with his hand.

"If the others are already gone, then what're you still doin' here?" he asked, anxious to steer the subject away from what he wished to block from memory entirely.

Grimmjow arched a brow in suspicion when Aaroniero seemed to huff at his question, folding his arms tetchily across his chest as he – dare he say it – _pouted?_ What the fuck?

"Isn't it obvious, dumbass?" the Noveno growled, trying to keep his displeasure at being left behind for such a menial task from showing on the surface. _Fucking Ulquiorra…_ "One of us had to stay behind to inform you that it was _us_ who took that annoying brat and orange haired faggot of yours."

A loud, warning rumble resounded from deep within Grimmjow's chest. "Call my daughter a 'brat' ever again, or even _think_ of usin' the word 'faggot' in front of Ichigo, an' next time I'll cut yer fuckin' tongue out…"

"Oooh, _scary_…" Aaroniero sneered, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Y'know, ya haven't changed a bit, Grimmjow."

"Heh. I was thinkin' the exact same thing. Only, in yer case, that's nothin' even close to a compliment." A malicious smirk tilted the blunette's mouth at the evident abhorrence on his ex-comrades face. It was nice to know he hadn't lost his touch. "Now, am not gonna ask ya again…where is my family?"

"Oh, don't get your panties in such a twist. They're perfectly safe…for now." Aaroniero watched in sick satisfaction when Grimmjow visibly tensed at the implication. "I think you know what we want, _Sexta_. Give back to us what you stole, and your stupid little family will be returned with nary a hair out of place. You have our word."

"Tch. Yer 'word' doesn't mean shit to me," Grimmjow spat, pinning the Noveno with the deadliest glare in his arsenal.

Something was definitely off with the picture, but damned be Grimmjow if he could put his finger on it. He could understand his former gang's motives, kidnapping his loved ones so that they held a substantial leverage over his head, but what he just couldn't grasp is _why_ they would leave this piece of fleshy scum to tell him what he'd long since figured out, what was so blindingly obvious that the Noveno's very presence became null and void…

And that's when it suddenly clicked into place.

Grimmjow threw his head back and barked out a throaty laugh. This was just too rich!

Aaroniero watched through slitted eyes as the former Espada laughed to his heart's content, his jaw clenching in irritation. "The fuck is so funny, Blue?"

"I gotta say," Grimmjow stated when he'd calmed his mirthful chuckles enough to allow him to talk. "Am kind'a honoured that they chose _me_ of all people fer the job. I mean, am not even in the ranks any more!"

"What're you blathering about, Jaegerjaques?"

Grimmjow wiped a stray tear away from under his eye, before settling a malevolent, toothy grin on the bewildered ninth Espada. "Fuck me sideways. Ya really are dumber than spit, ain't'cha Aaron? Tell me, why'd Ulquiorra leave you behind?"

"Do you _ever_ listen? He needed someone to lay it all out for you! There's no point in kidnapping someone if the _'hero'_ has no idea why, ya damn moron."

Grimmjow's grin only broadened, and he took a bold step forward. What a fucking _fool_. "But why?"

Aaroniero instantaneously took a step back from the advancing figure, his right hand flying to the butt of his pistol as he glowered at the blunette. "You're deliberately trying my patience, aren't you? I already told you why! Quit asking the same fucking question!"

Grimmjow could practically taste the man's rapidly escalating fear, and it did such wonderful things to his insides that he found himself biting back another chuckle. Damn, he hadn't really realised it before, but he really did miss this. The rush of adrenaline when facing off with an opponent, the glorious high his trusty pistol gave him when he wrapped his fingers around the hand grip with the sole intention to kill. It was all so deliciously addictive, and _oh god_ how he'd missed it…

"That's not what am askin' ya," he stated coolly, taking another confident step toward the anxious gang member. "What I want to know is why he would leave _any_ of you behind, let alone jus' the one'a ya. Why would he have ya stay behind to tell me somethin' that I could easily figure out on my own – an' without any backup? Sounds kind'a…_suspicious_, don't'cha think?"

Aaroniero's eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed hard. "Wh-What are you implying exactly? That Ulquiorra left me here to _die?_ By _your_ hands? Don't make me laugh!"

"Oh, I ain't kiddin' around, Noveno," Grimmjow snarled, his temper fluctuating wildly. "There's only one reason that Cuatro would leave ya to face me all on yer own – an' that's so that he could employ me to do his dirty work. Don't be so fuckin' naïve. It's obvious that he never intended fer ya to come back."

"Lies!" Aaroniero spat, drawing out his weapon, his hands shaking from unadulterated rage and the overwhelming feeling of betrayal._ Dammit all to hell!_ How didn't he see this coming? He should've known better than to trust that fucking pretentious, pale skinned prick!

"Ya wanna know why he chose me?" Grimmjow continued with his torment on the other, his veins positively buzzing with capricious excitement at this point. He was genuinely surprised he wasn't hard right now. "Because he knows that I'm gonna _tear you the fuck apart_… You signed yer own death warrant the very _second _ya put my family in harms way; you an' all the rest of the Espada scum. Every single one'a ya's are gonna regret the day ya ever thought to cross me – an' it's all gonna start right here, with _you_."

Hands trembling uncontrollably and palms now sweating, Aaroniero squeezed down on the trigger of his pistol, only to have it fire off in a random direction when a .32 calibre bullet from the blunette's Colt tore through the flesh and bone of his right hand. A stream of vulgar profanity poured from his lips as he grasped the profusely bleeding appendage in his left hand, his blood turning icy with shock as he doubled over.

"Yer too slow," Grimmjow commented aloofly as he stalked over to the cursing man. "Ya've _always_ been too slow."

Letting loose a scream of rage, the injured Espada lashed out at the older man with his good hand, aiming straight for the bridge of his nose. Grimmjow scoffed as he easily caught the incoming fist in his left hand, snapping it back until he heard the satisfying crunch of bone and the younger fell to his knees, crying out in agony.

"You were a constant hindrance to us, Noveno; the biggest fuckin' liability we ever had the misfortune to encounter. We all thought so. Am actually amazed it's taken the rest'a them _this_ long to finally get rid'a ya." Planting his foot square on Aaroniero's chest, Grimmjow forced him onto his back, digging the heel of his boot into the man's sternum as he loomed over his broken form. "Am gonna make an example outta ya, Noveno. No one, an' I mean fucking _no one_, touches my family an' lives to tell about it. Better start prayin' to whoever it is ya believe will listen, 'cause yer time is officially up…"

In less than ten minutes, Grimmjow had the soon-to-be ex-Espada stripped completely naked, his clothes lying in tatters after being cut from his body with his melee knife, a scrap of his shirt stuffed in his mouth as a makeshift gag. His hands and feet were bound securely with rope, tight enough to cut off the blood circulation so that the digits of both extremities were turning a dark, angry purple. After locating the man's horse, he fixed a length of rope to the bindings around his wrists before attaching the other end firmly around the horn on the mare's western style saddle.

Glancing down with a stony sense of callous detachment, Grimmjow wasn't at all surprised to see a whole myriad of different emotions flashing through the aqua pools of his former comrade; helplessness, anger, humiliation, fear… Each and every one just made the blunette all the more eager to end the miserable wretch's life. He'd crossed the line, they _all_ had, and every last one of them was going to suffer the same fate as the poor Noveno. No punishment was too severe, and he wasn't going to show even an ounce of mercy. The fuckers were all already dead. They just didn't know it yet.

Leading the pinto mare to the wooden archway at the south entrance to his land, Grimmjow ignored the muffled pleas of the younger man no doubt begging to be released, to be spared. The very notion made Grimmjow's fury flare.

Grabbing the knife from its scabbard at his left hip, Grimmjow gazed out over the open plains, the afternoon sun casting the land in an ethereal, golden glow as critters of all shapes and sizes milled around in its calming warmth. Tilting his head back, Grimmjow took a moment to enjoy the sensation of the golden rays splashing over his face, of the cool breeze tickling at the nape of his neck and gently rustling his clothes. After today, he wouldn't have the time to kick back and relax like this. No. From this point onwards, he was on a manhunt of epic proportions. He _would_ get his lover and daughter back, and he was going to mow down anyone who dared to stand in his way. That much was certain.

He would see this through to the bitter end.

Turning at last to the still struggling Noveno, Grimmjow growled out on a low baritone, "Well, this is where we part ways, Aaroniero. May the gods have mercy on yer soul, old friend, 'cause fuck knows no one else will."

With that, he plunged his knife deep into the mare's hindquarters. The animal gave a shrill cry, bucking out against the pain before suddenly taking off in a hurried gallop, dragging the soon-to-be carcass of the Noveno behind her.

Grimmjow watched with a cold impassiveness, right up until the painted horse disappeared from view over the crest of a not so faraway knoll. Turning on his heel, the blunette silently made his way back toward his home – his _empty_ home, now void of vibrant orange and beautiful, sea-foam green.

Clutching at his chest when his heart panged violently at the realisation, Grimmjow made a solemn vow to his loved ones. "I _will_ come for you, Ichigo, Nelliel, an' I _will_ get you out of this mess alive. Please, jus' hold on tight; I'm on my way…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Another long one. Hn. Let's just assume from this point on that all chapter are gonna be quite long, ne?**

**Well, Grimm's pissed. But what's new, ey? I hope ya'll enjoyed reading the latest instalment of Red Dead Bleach as much as I did writing it. We're gettin' down to the nitty gritty now, and expect to see flashbacks popping up from probably the next chapter on. It's the only way to keep our beautiful duo together at the moment, and will also lend a hand in explaining many past experiences fer each of the characters. So...yosh~**

**I can only apologise if there are any spelling/grammar errors - I'll admit to eating a Magnum Gold whilst proof reading, so I was somewhat..._distracted_... Sorry *bows* Has anyone tried it, though? Oh em gee. Heaven on a wooden stick. Yum.**

**Oh, an' I also fergot ta mention in my last note - if anyone is having difficulty picturing what Grimm's outfit looks like with all his weapons an' supplies etc, jus' look up 'John Marston' on Google images. It's his standard cowboy attire, only with a different colour scheme - not that Grimmjow wouldn't look delicious in _any_ colours. _Purr..._**

**Anyways, please enjoy at will~**

**Ciao fer now my sweets**

**Toringtino~**


	5. The Demon Drink

**A/N: **For those of you who may have been following this story before, it was formerly entitled; **"Red Dead Bleach"**. In keeping with the chapter titles (which are taken from missions titles in _"Red Dead Redemption"_) I have changed the name to **"In a Hail of Bullets"**, which is a trophy achieved in the game for killing 500 enemies with any pistol or revolver.

In my haste to originally post this fiction, I went for a title that was blunt and to the point, but now that I've had time to reflect, I think I rather like the new one more. It's quite apt, ne?

Sorry if any y'all prefer the old one...

**Disclaimer: **I begrudgingly disclaim both Bleach and Red Dead Redemption. However! I _do_ claim the nifty little plot line in between the two. Unless, of course, y'all don't like it. In which case I'll happily disclaim that as well.

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

_'The Demon Drink'_

_**Nuevo Paraiso, Diez Coronas region, Northern Mexico, 1903**_

"Heh, I can't get over the look on the conductor's face when ya pulled yer gun on 'im, Grimm!" one Nnoitra Gilga howled with laughter, long fingers gripping his sides. "He looked like he was gonna piss 'imself!"

Aaroniero and Yammy joined in the boisterous merriment, whereas Grimmjow simply gave a sharp-toothed grin and Ulquiorra rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets before he was tempted to throttle each and every one of the idiots.

It was a warm and humid night in the small outpost town of El Matadero, and spirits were soaring high amongst the small band of outlaws currently celebrating their latest successful heist – a supply train bound for the Pacific Union Railroad Camp filled with US Army grade weapons, boxes upon boxes of ammunition and more booty than any one of them could count.

The heist was just the latest of many for the gunslinging vigilante unit known infamously throughout the sandy plains of New Paradise as the Espada. Ranked from Cero through to Décimo according to skill, the Espada were an exclusive group of specially chosen mercenaries trained expeditiously in marksmanship, espionage and, of course, execution. They were feared by the people they governed as much as they were respected.

Naturally, there were a few who rose up and argued that respect forged from extortion and the blood of 'rebel forces' was tyranny more than anything else.

May those select few forever rest in peace.

Currently, the Quinto, Sexta, Noveno and Décimo Espada were commemorating the recent triumph, and their subsequent reward, in true Espada fashion; with torrents of alcohol, reckless gambling, and loose women. The Cuatro would much rather be somewhere – _anywhere_ – else, but had thought it best to tag along if only to ensure that none of his moronic posse accidentally got themselves killed in a drunken brawl. Simple-minded trash tended to attract the worst kind of attention, but add enough liquor to drown a buffalo and tempers more volatile than a barrel of gunpowder, and you had the recipe for cataclysmic disaster.

"Oi, oi! Let's make a bet!" Aaroniero gabbled in an excited slur as they meandered toward the town's one and only tavern, making Ulquiorra pinch the bridge of his nose in anticipation of the sheer idiocy he knew was to come. "Uhhh… Oh, got it! Last one to catch a chicken has to lick a goat!"

Ulquiorra would have palmed himself square in the face, if such an action wasn't so far beneath him. Fools. Every last one of them.

"Ulgh." Yammy screwed up his face in distaste to the proposal, apparently not thinking too highly of the suggestion either. "I think I'd rather kiss Gilga…"

"Ain't that the same difference?" Grimmjow queried with a cheeky wink.

"Ehh?" Nnoitra growled indignantly, his visible eye narrowing. "Tha fuck is this, fruitcake night? Unless ya got tits the size'a melons, then ain't none'a you sick fucks gettin' anywhere near this sexy bod."

"Pfft," Grimmjow scoffed, absentmindedly twirling his pistol around his right index finger. "What about that doxy back in Nosalida? She had the bust of a twelve year old boy an' ya still give it to her good an' proper."

"What can I say? She was eager t'learn, an' I was all too willin' to teach…" Slinging a lanky arm around the Sexta's neck and squeezing heartily, Nnoitra leered down at his blue-haired comrade. "Though I guess you of all people would know all about what strappin' young bucks look like out'a their clothes, ey?"

"Hey," Grimmjow spoke in a warning tone but flashed a lopsided grin all the same. "Don't knock it 'til ya've tried it. If it's tight enough, ass trumps pussy every time."

By this stage, Ulquiorra was rubbing small, soothing circles over his throbbing temples, trying to stave off a particularly violent migraine. Aaroniero, however, was a different ballgame altogether.

"Is it really that good?" he questioned, genuinely intrigued in the sordid topic as he traipsed alongside the Sexta. "I mean, how the hell does it even _work_?"

Grimmjow arched a brow at the brunette's endless fountain of curiosity. Sometimes he forgot just how impressionable the bipolar psycho could be. At just sixteen years of age, the Noveno was currently the youngest member of their exclusive gang, and he tended to immortalise those above him.

"This isn't no 'queer for the mentally retarded' seminar, boy," Yammy crudely criticised, shoving the young Espada roughly on the shoulder. "Go chase them chickens like a good lil' loon an' leave us real men to talk in peace."

Grimmjow and Nnoitra exchanged a knowing glance, both working hard to keep their mocking comments at bay. Every ranked number of the Espada was a little wary of their Noveno, all of them able to see that bloodthirsty glint in those aqua eyes that was much too savage for a boy too young to harness it, but none resented him quite as vividly as their Décimo. Yammy just couldn't get over the fact that some half-pint brat was ranked above him, taking it as a personal blow to his pride, and henceforth made a point of constantly badgering and belittling the youngest male.

Little did he know, that by paying all that extra attention to the boy, personal vendetta or no, he had inadvertently 'adopted' the young lad and in a morbid twist of irony Aaroniero looked up to Yammy the most. The Quinto and Sexta found it exceedingly darling, and derived immense enjoyment declaring said musings to their Décimo every chance they got. With the tavern in sight, however, they decided to cut the guy a rare break and the small group of misfit gunslingers fell into easy banter instead. Grimmjow and Nnoitra were arguing over who was going to rack up the most notches on their bedpost in the next twenty-four hours; Yammy was casually betting Ulquiorra that the Sexta would win, homosexual tendencies regardless; Ulquiorra wasn't even _pretending_ to humour him; and Aaroniero was, well, chasing errant fowl.

They were a mere stone's throw away from yet more alcohol and floozy entertainment when it happened.

With his arm still lazily slung over his brother's shoulders, Nnoitra suddenly found himself jostled from Grimmjow's side when a comparatively short, hooded figure barged awkwardly between them.

"_Lo siento_," a distinctly feminine voice pardoned. "Please excuse me."

Nnoitra sneered and Grimmjow gave a disgruntled huff, though both were willing to let it go in favour of vastly more pleasurable altercations. Ulquiorra heaved a long suffering sigh at their obliviousness. Intoxicated or not, they were the Espada, an elite militia group hand selected and painstakingly trained to be the absolute ultimate soldiers.

Honestly, did he have to do _every_thing himself?

Just as the hooded female went to dash past, the Cuatro made good use of his expertly honed reflexes to strike out and snatch up a fragile wrist. The young woman gave a startled yelp as she was brutally whipped round to face the stoic Espada, her heart beating wildly as she tried in vain to release the unyielding grip.

Nnoitra and Grimmjow stopped in their tracks at the unexpected commotion, brows furrowed in suspicion. So uncharacteristic was it for the Cuatro to cause a scene, that even Aaroniero ceased in his fruitless endeavours to rally around his peers and check out what was going on.

"Ey, Ulquiorra, what's this?" Yammy was the first to speak up, his tone decidedly teasing. "A pretty filly finally catch yer eye? Heh."

"Don't be absurd," Ulquiorra chastised coldly, not so much as an eyelid batting out of place as the captured girl struggled vehemently in his grasp. "This woman is a petty thief and, as such, must be dealt with accordingly."

"Tha hell ya talkin' 'bout?" Nnoitra articulated poorly, still confused as to what the problem was. They were all no-good thieves themselves; what was one more fish in an already overcrowded pond?

Without preamble, the pale skinned Cuatro reached into the confines of the hooded cloak the woman wore, duly disregarding her hissing protests, and from within produced a small leather pouch sealed at the top with a length of string. Nnoitra's visible eye widened in disbelief as he pat the now vacant spot at his hip, his mouth dropping open as Ulquiorra gave him a pointed look.

"I believe this belongs to you, Quinto," Ulquiorra drawled, tossing the bag back to its rightful owner.

Nnoitra caught it with a low growl, his teeth gritting in chagrin as he attached it back on his belt. "Ya devious fuckin' bitch," he snarled at the swindling harpy, reaching out with his right arm. "Give 'er here, Cifer."

Something akin to uncertainty spiked in Grimmjow's gut as the unnamed woman was carelessly tossed from Ulquiorra's clutches and straight into Nnoitra's, staggering over her own two feet as the Quinto violently wrenched her supple figure against his own by the throat. However, unable to pinpoint what exactly the feeling was, or what it might mean, he quickly stomped it down as inconsequential.

"So, ya think ya can steal from me, the _Quinto Espada_, an' get away with it, ne?" Nnoitra jeered, his teeth bore in an animalistic display of dominance. "I'll show ya what happens ta greedy little whores who don't know their place…"

The lesson was promptly dealt in the form of a bone-jarring backhand, which had the young woman crying out in pain and sprawling helplessly in the dirt. Grimmjow feigned tedium at the spectacle, though inwardly cringed at the sickening crack, whereas Ulquiorra simply looked away, already bored with the situation. Aaroniero flinched and made to start forward, wanting to help the poor girl up when it was obvious that no one else would, but Yammy quickly interjected, putting a stop to his chivalrous actions with a rough hand fisting the back of his shirt.

"Don't interfere, lad," he huffed in a scolding tone. "It ain't yer business."

The Noveno frowned but stayed put, knowing that Yammy was right. Putting himself in the line of fire where an upset Quinto was concerned was just asking for a new orifice or two.

"_¡Por favor!_" the fear-stricken girl beseeched, rising onto her knees as she literally begged for forgiveness. "I-I'm sorry! Please d-don't hurt me! I'll do anything! _Anything_!"

That same uneasy roiling in Grimmjow's gut returned tenfold when the trembling figure spoke, the feminine lilt striking a distant chord deep within his subconscious yet remaining infuriatingly elusive from his grasp. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he feel so qualmish all of a sudden? Something wasn't right, that much was for damn sure… He just didn't know _what_ yet.

"What cowardly trash," Ulquiorra announced callously, turning bored emerald eyes on the fuming Quinto. "Do hurry along, Nnoitra. You are attracting attention, and I don't wish to spend my entire evening in these squalid alleys."

"Yeah, yeah. No need to get sassy," Nnoitra drawled as he drew a revolver from the holster at his hip. Stepping up to the clearly petrified figure kneeling by his feet, he reached out to grab her hood. "If ya got any sins to repent, ya filthy snake, then I'd do it now, 'cause yer about to go an' meet yer God. But first, let's get a look at that face… I wanna see the life bleed from yer eyes as ya beg fer mercy…"

Ripping the hood back and down, the mystery woman was finally revealed to the notorious posse, and Grimmjow nearly choked on the breath in his lungs. Even in the dim lighting of the few oil lanterns dotted around, it was clear that the girl was fairly young. With fresh, firm skin, rosy cheeks, shining amber eyes and flowing plum coloured hair messily tied up with a yellow ribbon, she was the picture of beauty and innocence…

…only Grimmjow knew better.

"Hmm, yer a pretty lil' thing," Nnoitra mused, squatting down to grab the girl's chin between spindly fingers. "Maybe I should take ya round back an–"

"No," Ulquiorra cut in, his voice biting and leaving no room for dispute. "You finish this _now_, Gilga. We have wasted enough time on this trivial matter as it is."

"Tch. _Fine_. Fuckin' cock-blocker." Nnoitra straightened back up, flipping out the cylinder of his revolver to check the chambers were loaded, before snapping it back into place and pulling back the hammer with a definitive _'click'_ that seemed to echo bleakly through the still night air. "Such a waste…"

Neck breaking out in a cold sweat and instincts screaming at him, Grimmjow acted on impulse before he could stop himself, had already moved before he even realised he'd been thinking about it. Shouldering into Nnoitra, he used his forearm to deflect the weapon from its intended target, causing the shot to fire off in a random direction out over the dusty plains.

"God_damn_ it, Grimmjow!" Nnoitra roared, his heart racing from the unpredicted friendly attack. "The fuckin' hell d'ya think yer playin' at?"

"Sorry, Nnoi," Grimmjow replied, his apology severely lacking in sincerity, "but I can't let ya kill her. Not this one, not this time."

The Quinto sputtered, outraged and shocked that he was blindsided by his closest comrade, and for some cheap slut of all things. What ever happened to 'bros before hoes'?

"Do you know this woman, Jaegerjaques?" Ulquiorra asked, a very brief – very _faint_ – glimmer of interest sparking behind those emotionless emerald orbs.

Grimmjow steadily guided the quivering girl to her feet, tucking her behind his back as he took up a defensive stance in front of her prone form and set hard, cerulean eyes on the Cuatro. "As a matter'a fact, yeah. I do."

Nnoitra looked like he wanted to protest and kick up a fuss, but Ulquiorra silenced him before he could start by adopting a similar position to the Sexta before him. Discreetly, he slipped his right hand from his pocket, making a subtle reach for the pistol at his hip. Grimmjow didn't miss a beat, his hand flying to the butt of his own weapon, cerulean eyes stony in their conviction. A tense and pregnant moment passed between the two comrades, both men willing to sacrifice their pride and stake their lives on the other's lack of temerity. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

With great surprise to all, Grimmjow included, it was Ulquiorra that backed down first.

"Very well, Sexta," he said impassively, suitably satisfied that the Sexta knew what he was doing. "Take care of it."

That being said, the raven-haired Espada calmly continued toward the tavern, Yammy following suit and dragging a reluctant Aaroniero along behind him. Nnoitra gave Grimmjow a venomous glare, his displeasure practically crackling in the stagnant air between them as he reluctantly holstered his weapon.

"Dissed an' undermined fer a fuckin' _skirt_," he sneered, giving the young girl recoiling behind the Sexta a scathing onceover. "Ya ought'a be careful where ya throw down yer loyalties, Grimm."

Grimmjow kept a wary eye on his brother, unconsciously using his broad, muscular body to shield the defenceless lass. "It ain't nuthin' personal, Nnoi."

"Keh. Ya best keep yer bitch on a short leash, Sexta," Nnoitra spat as he turned on his heel to follow the rest of their posse. "Generosity ain't free the second time 'round."

Grimmjow kept a thoughtful eye on the lanky male's back right up until he disappeared from view and into the dingy bar, a sense of guilt weighing down upon his shoulders at the Quinto's dour words. Letting out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, he scrubbed a callused hand down over his face, muttering curses to himself as the stimulating rush of adrenaline receded from his veins. Posture and heartbeat relaxing, he turned to the girl seeking refuge behind him – only to find her shrinking back. Frowning, he made to reach out for her, but she slapped his hand away and hastily made a break for it.

"Oi! Wait!" Hot on her heels, it didn't take five seconds for him to catch her up, a firm grasp on her bicep halting her escape.

Pulling frantically against the sturdy hold, the young girl pleaded with the nefarious gang member. "Please, just let me go! I won't cause any more trouble, I promise! Please… I just want to go home…"

"Whoa, whoa! Relax," Grimmjow said in a placating tone, easing up his grip to show that he meant no harm. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. You can trust me, Senna."

Amber eyes widening, the girl stiffened in shock at the casual mention of her name, providing Grimmjow ample opportunity to grip her chin with gentle fingers and tilt her head toward the light. Examining the blooming bruise decorating her jaw, Grimmjow scowled when he flicked the pad of his thumb over the reddened area to find that it was already swelling. The discovery was hardly surprising, though. Nnoitra may be a weedy sonuvabitch, but he sure knew how to pack a wallop.

"Sorry," he murmured when the girl, Senna, winced and sucked in a sharp breath. Dropping his hands to his sides, he regarded the dainty female with compassionate eyes and a heavy heart. "Do you even remember me?"

Pretty amber eyes gazed long and hard into his own, teeth worrying plump lips as Senna cautiously raised her hands. Grimmjow cocked a brow, but otherwise remained impassive, even when those petite elegant hands gripped the rim of his hat and quietly pulled it off. Senna audibly gasped as unruly strands of shocking blue hair were revealed, choking on the torrent of emotions crashing through her.

"Grimmjow…" Fingers numb, she dropped the hat between them, staggering back from the man she thought – _prayed_ – she would never encounter again. "I-I… I have to go…"

"Damn it, Senna – hold up!" Quickly scooping his hat up from the ground, Grimmjow roughly shoved it back on and jogged to keep in pace with the evasive piece of his past. "What the fuck's yer problem, huh? Is it really that damn hard to look me in the eye?"

Senna blanched at that, instinctively wrapping her arms around her waist as she lowered her head and picked up the pace. "It's nothing. I just… I have to get home. I'm sorry."

"Listen here," Grimmjow growled, pitching forward to stand in front of her, effectively cutting off her retreat. "I didn't risk my ass to save yers, just fer you to wander off an' die in a gutter someplace else. Don'tcha know how fuckin' dangerous these roads are at night? They're filled with bandits an' crooks, the kind'a lowlife scum who'd lynch their own mothers' fer a defenceless piece'a tail like yers."

"Men just like _you_, you mean?" Senna spat with a withering glare, trying to sidestep the blunette with little success.

"Oh no, sweetheart. There're far worse monsters out there than me," Grimmjow glared right back, not deterred in the least, "and one damn near emptied yer brains in the dirt not five minutes ago."

Flinching at the harsh reality, Senna diverted her gaze to the ground, unconsciously admitting defeat. Grimmjow nodded and grabbed her wrist, tugging her toward the stables where he and the other Espada had boarded their mounts when they'd first arrived. Senna tried to object and complain, but it was no use, and soon she found herself watching as the stubborn blunette saddled up a beautiful buckskin mare.

"She's gorgeous," Senna marvelled, petting the horse's neck as Grimmjow led her outside.

"Trust me, she knows. This here's Leona. She's a right pain in the ass, but she's loyal at least." Swinging up into the saddle, Grimmjow got himself comfortable before offering his hand down to Senna. "C'mon, I'll take ya home." When the plum-haired girl hemmed, Grimmjow narrowed his eyes in warning. "Look, either ya climb up of yer own free will, or I rope ya on against it; it's up to you."

Correctly assuming that the blunette was kidding around, Senna reluctantly slid Grimmjow her hand, giving a feminine yelp as she was effortlessly hauled off of her feet and positioned side-saddle in the man's lap.

"Good choice," Grimmjow hummed with a small smirk, reaching around her to take up the reins as he urged Leona into a leisurely walk. "Now, where to?"

Still a little miffed at the turn of events, Senna tried her best not to seem too pouty as she mumbled, "Casa Madrugada."

"That lawless whorehouse?" Grimmjow gibed, though set course accordingly. "Shit. Maybe ya'd actually be better off takin' yer chances with the bandits an' crooks…"

Senna sniffed but refused to rise to the bait, leaving Grimmjow to chuckle softly to himself as they departed from El Matadero and started down a dark and winding trail.

For the most part, the ride passed in a contrived yet companionable silence, with only the chirrup of distant crickets and the soft beat of Leona's hooves against the soft earth filling the void. Grimmjow welcomed the peace, as he genuinely couldn't think of anything to say, and yet he couldn't help but steal furtive glances at the pretty _señorita_ every so often. He honestly didn't think he'd ever see Senna again, and yet here they sat, defying all geographical logic. The last time he'd seen the girl, he was high on life and completely bombed on booze. Senna was new on the streetwalker scene, and consequently going for a bargain; Grimmjow, liquored to the eyeballs and hot to fucking _trot_, easily gave in to fleshy temptation. The next morning, he woke up to a splitting headache and cold sheets, the only memento of their brief time together the lipstick staining his lips and a dissolving memory.

Senna was purposefully ignoring said memory, having remembered the night – and the resulting repercussions – _very_ differently from the blue-haired lothario. Pursing her lips, she held onto the horn at the front of the saddle, her body swaying gently from side to side with the rhythm of the mare and rocking her into Grimmjow's powerfully built frame every other step. She felt incredibly safe and protected nestled in Grimmjow's burly arms, she couldn't deny that, but the blunette's very presence tonight was making her squirm, and she chewed worriedly on her thumbnail as the large brothel came into view up ahead.

Grimmjow glimpsed down at the anxious female, misinterpreting her restless fidgeting for what had transpired with Nnoitra. "What were ya thinkin' tonight, Sen? I mean, _damn_, robbin' people on the streets? Don'tcha know that's a sure fire way to wind up under a slab?"

"I had no other choice," Senna protested weakly, staring listlessly at her hands in her lap.

"No other choice? Uh, no offence doll, but it's no real mystery that yer a workin' girl – ya live in a red-light district, for fuck's sake! Ya shouldn't be hustlin' fer money. What's the matter, business been a little slow lately or somethin'?"

Senna tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feeling a lot like a small child getting a good scolding for misbehaving. "Yeah, something like that…"

Grimmjow didn't understand but decided to let the sensitive subject drop, steering Leona under the stone archway at the entrance to the brothel. Moseying across the courtyard, he pulled the buckskin mare to a halt to the left of the debauched establishment, next to a stairway leading to the second floor as per Senna's instruction. Mindful of the extra passenger, Grimmjow slid off the saddle before turning and offering his hand to Senna, helping the young woman to her feet.

An awkward moment was shared between the two, wherein neither knew what to do now that they were here, or even what they should say knowing they might never cross paths again. With a few minutes to gather her mettle, it was Senna who broke the tension first.

"Thank you. For everything." Fingering the hem of her cloak, she kept her gaze fixated on the ground and scuffed her feet. "I, um… I don't have any money to repay you for saving my life, but I could– i-if you want, I could…"

"Christ," Grimmjow physically recoiled, trying not to look as disgusted as he felt once he figured out what she was driving at. "Lemme stop ya right there, Sen. I ain't interested."

"You wouldn't have to pay me…"

In spite of himself, Grimmjow chuckled, a carnal glint in those sapphire eyes complimenting a feral quirk of the lips. "No, no. It's not that. I jus' prefer a less…" he gestured vaguely with his hands Senna's feminine physique, "…curvaceous figure these days. No offence, _chica_."

Offence was literally the farthest thing from Senna's mind right then – if anything, she actually looked relieved. "Aa. Well… in that case, thanks again, Grimmjow. Maybe next time we'll meet under more favourable circumstances, yeah?"

"Maybe… but probably not." Tipping his hat in a gesture of farewell, the blunette readied himself to mount his horse. "Take care of yerself, Senna."

Senna gave a curt nod and a grateful wave, Grimmjow watching as she turned away and began ascending the wooden stairway. With one last reminiscent grin after the retreating figure, he hooked his foot into the stirrup, ready to hoist himself up and move out, when he noticed Senna suddenly stumble on one of the steps, a pained moan escaping full lips as she clutched at the railing for support. Quickly abandoning Leona, he rushed to her aid.

"Shit, are ya okay?" he asked, kicking himself for the stupidity of he question when it was obvious she was anything but. "Here, lemme help ya."

Draping one of her arms over the width of his shoulders, he hooked one of his own under her knees whilst the other curled around her back, and swept her up like a newlywed bride. The first thing he noticed was just how light and fragile she felt in his arms. Sure she was a young lady – a prostitute at that – so her figure was bound to be quite trim, but this was ridiculous. Was she ill?

"Nnoi has a lethal backhand," Grimmjow said in way of explanation, both of her sudden faintness and his ensuing actions. "Yer probably jus' a little dizzy. Where's yer room?"

"I'll be fine," Senna mumbled, a faint flush of embarrassment colouring her cheeks as she tried to wriggle from the man's grasp. "Put me down, Grimmjow. I can walk just fine on my own."

"Che, yeah, 'cause ya demonstrated that so well jus' now… Where's yer room?" When amber eyes narrowed in an obstinate scowl, Grimmjow merely shrugged his shoulders and began making his way up the rest of the steps. "Alrighty. Ya don't wanna tell me, then I'll jus' have ta ask my way around."

"…Through the main entrance, and it's the second door on the right."

Grimmjow gave a smug grin as he followed her directions, fighting back the urge to shudder as they entered the brothel and echoes of forged pleasure ricocheted throughout the hallway. Jesus shit, what were the walls made out of; fucking _paper_?

Shouldering his way into Senna's room, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of an unexpected occupant lying sprawled out on their stomach upon the ratty, double bed in the corner. The woman was truly voluptuous, with lightly tanned skin, turquoise eyes, chin-length maroon coloured hair and a remarkably well-endowed chest. A foxy little smirk tilted her lips as she looked over the duo in the doorway, a sculpted brow arching delicately.

"Uh, sorry," Grimmjow rumbled somewhat politely, before glowering down at the girl in his arms. "I thought ya said this was _your_ room?"

"It is," Senna assured him as he finally set her back on her feet. "This is Haineko, one of the girls that live here. She keeps an eye on my… things, while I'm out."

"Ne Senna," the other woman practically purred as she rose from the bed, eyeing Grimmjow up like he was a hunk of prime steak in the butcher's window. "You didn't tell me you were out turnin' tricks again, you sly little vixen."

The blush painting Senna's face darkened at the flirty insinuation. "I-It's not like that! He was just–"

"Say no more," Haineko grinned, turquoise eyes fluttering lasciviously as she shimmied past – making sure to rub provocatively against the handsome blunette as she did so. "Be sure and send 'im my way when you're finished. I'll show him how to make a kitten purr like a tiger…"

Grimmjow's eyebrows quirked toward his hairline. "Ya got it all wrong, buttercup, I–"

"Shhh…" Haineko silenced him with a fingertip to the lips, thick-lashed eyelids falling to half mast. "Save your voice, _guapo_ – you're gonna need it."

Too dumbfounded to move, let alone voice a rebuttal, Grimmjow could only watch as the hedonistic woman coolly sashayed away, hips swaying to a sensual beat and trilling laughter following her down the hall.

Grimmjow strived to find the right words to accurately describe what had just happened. "Hn, she seems…"

"Nice?" Senna suggested.

"…like a fuckin' screwball."

Senna bit back a lighthearted snicker at the snide comment, crossing the room to sit upon the rumpled sheets of her bed. "Haineko may be a tad promiscuous, but she's a good person. She takes care of me like a big sister. I owe her a lot." Looking up at the sceptical blunette, she gave a mischievous grin. "Having said that, you may want to slip out over the balcony there," she motioned with her head toward the door adjacent to where he stood, "Haineko has claws and she's not afraid to use them to get what she wants."

Repressing a full-body shiver, Grimmjow muttered his gratitude and swiftly moved toward the other exit. He may be a man, and could appreciate a full-figured temptress as well as any other, but he had absolutely no desire to bed a fucking cougar. He was a dominant male; the motherfucking alpha – but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Haineko would _eat him alive_.

Yeah, no fucking thank you.

He was just reaching for the handle of the door, fingers scant centimetres from granting him sweet, sweet freedom, when a shrill cry abruptly filled the humble space, the sharp resonance perforating his eardrums and paralysing him to the spot. Peering over his shoulder, he found Senna also frozen in place, the exposure of her scandalous secret causing her to bury her face in her hands in utter shame.

Compelled by some unknown force, Grimmjow stepped away from the door, ignoring the pitiful female as she wallowed in her own disgrace, and quietly stalked his way toward the source of the piercing wail, eyebrows knotting when he caught sight of a small wicker bassinette tucked out of sight beside a worn old dresser. Crouching down, he silently observed as a distinct mass wriggled under a bundle of thin blankets. Licking his dry lips, he slowly peeled back the top layer to reveal a tiny little baby, red faced and desperately seeking affection.

Frown gradually melting away, Grimmjow found himself reacting before he could think and carefully gathered the crying infant to cradle against his chest. The baby, once it realised its cries for attention had been acknowledged, hazily blinked open big teary eyes and gave a comforted whimper. Orbs the colour of fresh cut wheat, and prettily framed with thin black lashes, stared up at the blue-haired gang member in naïve-like wonderment, chubby cheeks forming the cutest dimples Grimmjow had ever seen when a joyous ream of laughter bubbled up from little lungs. The room was dim, a single kerosene lamp the only light source, but nevertheless Grimmjow was certain that the tuft of wispy, silky soft baby hair was an adorable sea-foam green.

Grimmjow was instantly smitten, a soft grin curling his lips as he gazed down at the tiny wonder. "Ya should'a told me ya had a kid. She's stunnin'."

"Her name is Nelliel," Senna supplied as she glanced up, nibbling nervously on her bottom lip at the heart warming picture of Grimmjow doting over her baby. "How did you know it was a girl?"

"Are ya kiddin' me?" Grimmjow snorted, his eyes never once leaving the precious bundle cooing contently in the crook of his arm. "Jus' one look at them eyes an' anyone'd know. She's far too beautiful to be a boy." Offering the baby his finger, his grin grew exponentially when Nelliel instantly latched on with plump, miniscule fingers and gave a gurgling baby giggle. "Christ, she's so _small_. How old is she?"

Senna swallowed convulsively past the lump in her throat and cast her gaze to her feet. "She's just over three months…"

Grimmjow was completely mesmerised by those big wheaten eyes that glittered like the finest jewels, the smile on his face beginning to hurt his jaw as he cradled Nelliel close and gave her a playful bounce, causing the little cherub to shriek with laughter. Bowing his head down, he gently bumped their noses together, grinning devilishly when a tiny fist pulled at the rebellious blue bangs hanging over his forehead. She was so damn cute and spirited, he couldn't for the life of him fathom why Senna would ever want to hide her away like she was something to be ashamed of…

…and that's when Senna's words sank in.

Animated grin faltering and jovial antics stilling, Grimmjow slowly pivoted to face the young prostitute, who had yet to move from her spot on the bed.

"Three months?" he reiterated hollowly, his voice wavering with fear for the first time in _years_. "So that means that you were… about a year ago, when we…?"

Senna couldn't bring herself to respond, though Grimmjow took her hunched over form and shunned amber gaze as answer enough. Suddenly feeling quite nauseas, cerulean eyes flickered from the infant still holding on tight to his finger, to the plum-haired mother deliberately avoiding him, and back again.

Several heavy seconds ticked by, which convolutedly felt like fucking _light-years_, before Grimmjow plucked up enough courage to speak.

"Does that mean… Is it– I mean _she_, Nelliel…" Roughly clearing his throat, he took a composed breath and tried again. "Is she…"

"Is she yours?" Senna finished when it was clear that Grimmjow was never going to find the nerve to say it aloud.

Grimmjow gave a shaky nod, not trusting himself to talk any longer. Shit, he didn't even know if he _wanted_ to hear the answer, didn't know if he could handle such a devastating blow. Unfortunately for him, however, Senna chose that precise moment to finally meet his apprehensive gaze – and right then he knew, just _knew_. He could see it reflected in those striking amber eyes before she even uttered a word…

"Yes, Grimmjow. Nelliel is your daughter."

Nelliel wailed, Senna sobbed, and Grimmjow was sure he felt time grind to a complete stop.

He'd played a dangerous game of Russian Roulette with the demon drink…

And the demon won.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Howdy, partners~!

Now, before y'all go gettin' _too_ mad - remember tha' murder is still against the law! Okay? Okay.

Yes, I left this story for a very, extremely, _redonkulously_ long time. Ya have my sincerest apologies, it was mightily unintentional. But yeys! Here she is, alive an' buckin' once more, all dusted off with a shiny new name an' everything. I've been playin' a lot of "Red Dead Redemption" online these days, an' I guess it kickstarted my passion for this particular fanfiction all over again. Aa, John Marston... You complete me, sir.

This chapter was actually part of what will now be the next chapter, but it was gettin' so incredibly lengthy tha' I had to stop an' reevaluate. I figured I might be better off cuttin' it in two, tha' way y'all can read this puppy whilst I polish up the second half, an' ya's aren't stuck tryin' to wolf down a mega 12k chapter after dyin' of starvation for so long. Plus, it means tha' the next chapter is actually already finished - I know! Check me right out. Hopefully I can get tha' out to ya's in the next day or two.

'Kay. So as you can tell, this chapter provided a little peek into Grimmjow's past, as well as explained how little Nelliel came about. There will be plenty more nostalgia to come, includin'; where Senna disappears off to, how Ichigo an' Grimmjow first met, how they became GrimmIchi, an' I even have a little of Ichigo's own convoluted history to reveal, too... _Ooooh~_

Again, am so sorry it's been so long. I honestly write whenever I get the chance, it jus' doesn't happen very often. I can only hope tha' y'all can forgive me, an' can still enjoy the story. If I can brighten even one persons day, then I'll be a happy camper!

Relish at yer own personal risk, bellas~

**Toringtino**

~**x**~


	6. Man is Born Unto Trouble

**Disclaimer:** All rights go to the respective owners of Red Dead Redemption and Bleach; I own Jack (Bauer)...

Kidding, kidding! I don't own that hunk of a man either.

D'oh!

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

_'Man is Born Unto Trouble'_

_**Present Day**_

_**Manzanita Post, Tall Trees region, West Elizabeth, 1911**_

Hitching Pantera to an available post just outside the store in the quaint rural settlement of Manzanita, Grimmjow ran a gloved hand down the length of her neck as he waited for the blasted shop to open. Kitted out in a plum shirt, black denim pants and waistcoat, and his favourite black hat decorated with the eagle's feather, the blunette silently surveyed his surroundings. Carving a path right through the dense forested domains of Tall Trees, Manzanita was primarily used for the purposes of commerce and trade. With a humble convenience store, lodging to rent for the weary traveller, and a small train station to usher in clientèle from larger towns, it was hardly a thriving economy teeming with the kind of hustle and bustle that seemed to pollute other communities. No. It was quiet here, peaceful, and Grimmjow wasn't in the least bit disconcerted to find it almost completely void of life.

It was early morning, not even seven o'clock yet, and already frustration and a festering kind of anger simmered precariously just beneath the surface of Grimmjow's otherwise calm and collected façade. All night, _all fucking night long_, he'd scoured the lands for the trail of his missing lover and child – only to come up with naught.

He shouldn't be surprised, not really. This was the Espada they were talking about after all, and Grimmjow knew firsthand just how slippery the iniquitous little fuckers could be. Hell, he used to _be_ one; of course he would know. It didn't help to soothe the overbearing feeling of uselessness though, not one fucking bit.

Beside him Pantera snorted and chomped at the bit in indignation, Grimmjow jolting back down to earth to realise he'd been fisting a handful of her dark mane in bitter failure. Promptly releasing his hold before her pawing front hoof found its target in the form of his booted foot, the blunette appeased the disgruntled mare with a scratch to the known sweet spot just below her ear.

Grimmjow couldn't help but smirk when the beautiful Appaloosa nickered blissfully, her head turning into his touch and tail swishing in relaxed merriment. He would have to remember to thank Ichigo for the useful titbit of information when he… Well, never mind. He'd make a mental note of it and add it to the already mile-long list of affairs he planned on implementing the very second he held Ichigo in his arms again.

As if sensing the sombre turn of her master's innermost thoughts, Pantera butted his shoulder and began to nibble playfully at the bright blue strands of hair at the nape of his neck, just like she used to when they first started 'bonding'. That is, Pantera would call it bonding, whereas Grimmjow would always maintain that it was little more than a friggin' nuisance.

"Quit it, ya overgrown filly," Grimmjow admonished, swatting the frisky mare's attentions away. "We ain't got time to fool around anymore. Ichigo an' Nel are out there somewhere, an' they're countin' on us to find 'em an' bring them home safe." Grabbing hold of the reins to bring the horse's gaze level with his own, Grimmjow gave those big brown eyes a steadfast stare. "Whaddaya say, girl – are ya with me? To the bitter end?"

Forgetting that she was bridled to the wooden hitching rail, Pantera attempted to rise up onto her hind legs, managing a few half rears as she gladly whinnied her acquiescence. Grimmjow chuckled, tipping his hat back with his thumb as he watched the mare more or less declare their camaraderie. It perhaps shouldn't, but the notion filled his heart with a certain sense of warmth and fondness. Beast or not, it made him feel lighter somehow knowing that he had at least one other familiar soul with him on this journey. He could trust Pantera (kind of), and she would be with him every step of the way, shouldering a lot of the burden that Grimmjow himself couldn't otherwise manage alone.

Speaking of burden, Grimmjow hurried to calm the riled mare down, her overeager display jostling a meagre fraction of the vast multitude of supplies he had packed that morning.

Somewhere deep down, amidst the dark recesses of his subconscious that he rarely ever gave pause to, he guessed he felt a pang of guilt for the poor beast. She'd barely had time enough for a suitable breather after working her so hard over the open plains in his desperation to reach home in time, before he was spurring her across the wilderness once more.

Together they had endured a long night of fruitless labours, with Grimmjow investigating all known locations within Tall Trees and the surrounding landscapes where both food and water were plentiful; i.e. the perfect spots for a band of men to make a temporary camp. Montana Ford, Bearclaw Camp, Nekoti Rock, Tanner's Reach… He'd searched and scrutinised every square inch of them all, and got squat for his efforts. The only place that had given him the barest hint of hope was at an abandoned shanty down in the snowy terrain of Aurora Basin, but by the time he'd got there it was much too late. A once blazing fire – used to cook a few small rabbits if the discarded carcasses were any indication – was nothing but ash and dying embers. Boot impressions left in the heavy blanket of snow, varying in length and width, indicated that at least three different adults had been present… and one child.

There was no doubt in Grimmjow's mind that Ichigo and Nelliel had been there, even before he'd stumbled across a lock of bright orange hair surreptitiously left behind upon the mouldy bed for him to find – he could honestly say he'd never been prouder of his fiery Berry, he'd obviously taught him better than he ever could have imagined. And yet, for all his ingenious savvy, all Ichigo had manage to achieve was a riled up blunette positively seething with rage at the knowledge that he had failed them all once again.

He'd attempted to pick up their trail, figuring if he rode hard and fast under the inky cover of night's embrace he could diminish the ever growing distance between them – but alas, his ex-brothers knew well enough to studiously cover their asses. The unmistakable 'U' of shoed hooves moved out in two different directions; one set leading deep into the coniferous forests and eventually lost to grassy earth and other wild animal paw prints, and the other cleverly veiled after diverging off of the snowy banks and into a shallow, gentle coursing river.

Being so close, and yet so far by the same stretch, made him feel so fucking inept that he'd trashed what little there was on offer within the decaying wooden hut in utter vexation. The musty old bed had been tipped, a decrepit end table hurled through the lone and grubby window, and the creaky excuse for a door kicked right off of its hinges. So berserk had he been, that when Pantera cried out in alarm from an approaching bear that had been disturbed from its slumber, Grimmjow didn't even bat an eye before slinging the Winchester repeater from his shoulder and sinking two bullets between the rabid monster's eyes.

Begrudgingly admitting defeat, for the time being at least, Grimmjow had returned home, to a hauntingly empty house, and fell into a restless state of semi-unconsciousness. When first light broke he promptly discarded his tortured dreams (nightmares?) of tangerine hair and love-fuelled kisses, of sea-foam green and squealing delight, slapped his game-face on, armed himself to the teeth, saddled up, and rode out without once looking back.

And now here he was, teeth and ambitions bared, ready to take on the whole fucking _universe_ and then laugh about it later when Ichigo would undoubtedly scold him for being so damn 'reckless'. Pantera was loaded up like a pack mule with satchel upon satchel of every conceivable item he could think of that he might ever need, the lengthy index consisting of food rations, limited medicinal aid including gauze and bandages, a few extra items of clothing, makeshift bedding to hunker down on at night, and a large duffel bag full of weaponry. From powerful repeaters to small but deadly pistols, his faithful bolt action and a scoped Carcano, it was safe to say that Grimmjow was a one-man arsenal of cataclysmic destructive capability.

He'd checked, and then checked again, but there literally wasn't a single thing he could afford to leave behind. He had no idea how long he'd be out on the road for, how long it would take to find and eliminate the remaining Espada, and the near grand in American dollars he'd brought with him would only get him so far. As it was, he would probably end up spending about half of that loading up on ammunition today… you know, if the shopkeeper actually bothered to hurry his ass up and open shop already.

"Ah. Howdy there, Jack."

_Heh, speak of the devil._

"Mornin', Ashido," Grimmjow greeted relatively amicably. "'Bout damn time ya showed up. I was two seconds away from declarin' ya open for business an' helpin' myself to the merchandise."

The proprietor, one Ashido Kanō, a fairly harmless man in his early thirties with spiked ruddy brown hair, dark jade eyes and attractive features, frowned at the remark. Sporting his usual attire of a black button-down shirt, faded denim pants and a waistcoat fashioned entirely from bobcat fur, Ashido slanted his eyes down to his pocket watch.

"What's with the hostility, 'ey? I ain't that late, guy."

Grimmjow's right eye twitched. Gods above, that accent! That thick, out-of-state vernacular denoting one of Canadian citizenship – it got him every damn time. For someone as stony-faced and serious as Ashido, the accent seemed almost comical.

"Jus' get to steppin' before I give ya a nasty case of someone just shot me in the head," Grimmjow urged, stepping away from Pantera with a heavy canvas sack to join the other at the cabin-style shop's front doors. "I haven't got the luxury of time to be pussyfootin' around."

"All right, I hear ya," Ashido assured the apparently quite antsy blunette as he procured his keys and proceeded to let them both inside. Knowing the man as well as he did through their interactions here at the store, he could be fairly certain that Grimmjow probably wasn't joking, and didn't want to risk further provoking the man by dawdling.

Leaving Grimmjow to his own devices, he went about opening all the shutters and some of the windows, letting the stuffy aroma of sundried vegetables, sacked corn and the metallic tang of polished weapons air out before situating himself behind the registry counter. "So, any particular reason for antagonistic impatience? Gearing up for elk season?"

"Hmm?" was Grimmjow's distracted response, his attention focused instead on a gleaming Evans repeater mounted upon the far wall.

"Elk season," Ashido reiterated, folding his arms across the counter as he surveyed the other man appraising the deadly weapon. "You always catch the biggest bull elk, every year without fail, 'ey. Sometimes I reckon it's you alone who keeps me in business."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, but didn't argue the fact. With a lifelong ream of immoral transgressions situated firmly under his belt, and the sheer marksmanship he'd developed as a result, it was really no massive marvel that he happened to be more than practised at bringing down large and exquisite game. Still, it's not as if Ashido was privy to such knowledge, and so he merely let the complimentary observation slide.

"Am goin' on a trip," Grimmjow eventually divulged, getting himself accustomed to the weight and feel of the repeater he would soon be adding to his collection. After all, one could never have _too many_ guns. "A long one," he grumbled as an afterthought.

"Ah. A hunting trip?"

Grimmjow felt his lip curl back. "I guess ya could say that."

"Hm, I'm actually jealous. With this place to run, I never find the time for spontaneous vacations any more." It was evident that Grimmjow was paying more attention to the firearm than him, but the levelheaded brunette was used to it, and hence kept the one-sided conversation going. "You going to take your little girl with you? I spied her shooting tin cans off the railing by the station not two weeks ago – it was a slingshot, mind you, but her skill is truly impressive. I guess she's got you to thank for that, 'ey?"

Grimmjow felt his pride and anger flare simultaneously at that, and struggled to keep either from showing on the surface. "She does alright," he shrugged, placing the Evans repeater down on the counter. "Hope ya weren't too attached to this beauty, 'cause she's comin' with me. Am'a need to see yer ammunition supplies, too – shotgun shells, twenty cal rounds up to forty-four an' everythin' in between. Whatever ya got, I need it."

"Hell's bells, Jack," Ashido commented, dark brows furrowing over troubled eyes as Grimmjow snatched up box after box of bullets. "Just what in the name of Mary are you planning on hunting? With a supply like that, it sure as shit ain't no elk."

"Nope," Grimmjow agreed, pocketing his supplies. "Am after a much more cunnin' game; the ruthless an' carnivorous kind."

"Hn. So, bears then?" Ashido guessed, earning himself a firm shake of the head from the blunette. His frown etched deeper in confusion. "Cougar?"

With a cryptic grin, Grimmjow slapped down a wad of cash. "Here; five even to cover the gun."

"And the ammo, guy?" Ashido inquired, wisely choosing not to further prod the plainly dismissed subject.

Hefting the large canvas sack Ashido had all but completely forgotten about up onto the counter, Grimmjow gave a smug and feral smirk. "That should cover it."

Rightfully a little wary of such a predatory gaze, the shopkeeper gave the bulging sack a guarded look. "And what exactly _is_ 'that'?"

"Grizzly," Grimmjow explained with total nonchalance, like they were discussing a humdrum topic like the weather.

As impressed as the humble shop owner was – and he was mightily impressed – he still cocked a dubious brow. "Grizzly meat fetches a fair price around these parts, but it isn't quite enough to cover what you have there…"

"It was a clean kill," Grimmjow informed him with no small amount of righteous pride. "I took the liberty of skinnin' 'im myself jus' last night, so what ya got there is grade A meat, a fresh heart, full fur an' claws. Even threw the head in, jus' in case ya wanted the teeth. I hear they sell well across the waters."

"That they do," Ashido concurred, gratification colouring his tone as he extended his hand out toward the blunette. "You got yourself a deal, partner."

Gripping the proffered hand in a sturdy shake, Grimmjow gave a toothy smirk. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."

"Any time, Jack," Ashido replied as Grimmjow turned on his heel, a sense of deep-rooted unease washing over him as the blunette sauntered away. For some unfathomable reason, he got the gut feeling that this could very well be the last time the surly gunslinger walked out that door. "Take care of yourself, friend," he said conversationally, though it sounded suspiciously like a request. "Oh, and come back soon with more stock, yeah?"

After a minor pause at the unexpected candor, Grimmjow gave the Canadian a lazy salute over his shoulder before seeing himself out. Squinting sapphire eyes against the harsh golden glare of the rising sun, he made his way back to his somewhat trusty steed, scowling when he found the hitching post questionably Appaloosa free. Glancing around, he spotted the escape artist with relative ease – resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the sight that greeted him, however, was wrought with difficulty. Pantera, having found some mysterious way to free herself from captivity, was giving a rather keen amount of attention to a chestnut stallion roped up outside of the train station opposite the store. Grimmjow clenched his fists and quickly put an end to the unsupervised nuzzling session with a sharp, commanding whistle.

Ears flicking back in the direction of her master, Pantera tossed her head and, with one final parting nip to the unnamed stallion's neck, trotted briskly back to the foot-tapping blunette. With a stern look of censure, Grimmjow gave a sharp tug on the mare's reins.

"Really, Pan? I leave ya alone fer two goddamn seconds an' yer whorin' yourself out to the first available piece of ass? If ya were Nelliel, I'd have boxed ya stupid by now…" Depositing the latest merchandise into the appropriate satchels, Grimmjow swiftly mounted up. "If I didn't need ya fer transport so bad, I'd've sold yer hide an' all – so count yourself lucky. Now go on, git!"

Making good use of his spurs to goad Pantera into an energetic canter, Grimmjow steered them down the dusty trail toward West Elizabeth's most prominent town; Blackwater. He had just one more vital pit stop to make before embarking on the single most important journey of his life. No expense would be spared; no personal sacrifice was too high. He would see every single remaining member of his extended and dysfunctional 'family' obliterated from the record books, and he would feel no remorse or guilt, for they had crossed the metaphorical line – the price of which was nothing less than their lives.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaques would have his family back… or he would die trying.

It was as simple as that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Elsewhere...<strong>_

Plagued by sporadic nightmares and hallucinogenic memories, sleep didn't come easily to Ichigo. Every time he fell deep enough into the tortured abyss his own subconscious for dreams to actually occur, he would suddenly lurch awake again, his lungs gasping for air and the back of his neck beading with sweat. It would seem that even within the confines of his own psyche he was subject to torment. He may not presently be encompassed with everything that was Grimmjow, but that didn't hinder his mind from painting clear and concise pictures of the handsome blunette within his head. The stunning shade of his eyes, the absurd colour of his hair, the husky resonance of his voice, and, of course, the rough and callused texture of those large working man's hands. He would rouse to phantom caresses ghosting over his skin and contentment saturating his soul; only for the ecstasy laden delirium to seep from his every pore when he took a good look around and reality hit him like a tidal wave.

When Ichigo woke that morning, dark lashes fluttering away the last fragments of his mental repose, it was no different to the last time. Or the several times before that. Still, he did have but one saving grace; Nelliel. At least he could awaken holding onto her, the steady thrumming of her heart and her wild berry scent a great and soothing comfort.

Blindly reaching out for her consoling warmth, orange-tinted brows knotted groggily when his hand skimmed across the bare mattress. The bare, _cold_ mattress.

Oh, _fuck_.

With no ignorant state of delusion clouding his brain as to where he was or _whom_ he was with, he naturally assumed the very worst had happened and tumbled gracelessly from the narrow single bed, the harsh transition from sleep-muddled and drowsy to wired and alert making him decidedly dizzy.

Feeling like this sudden ritual of waking up with his heart racing in his throat was becoming far too habitual, not to mention the potentially detrimental effects to his health, Ichigo frantically scrambled to his feet, paying no heed to his lack of protective footwear as he burst through the door of the latest crumbling shack he'd been imprisoned in. They had abandoned the previous hideout under the veil of darkness, hours before sunrise, with Ulquiorra expressing no desire to remain in the one area for any extended period of time for reasons that were abundantly transparent to all. In spite of the situation, Ichigo didn't oppose the decision. At least now they were out of that snow laden mountainous area and back upon crisp green grass, where balmy air and rays of golden sunshine were plentiful; where Nelliel wasn't chattering her teeth so damn hard Ichigo was worried they'd shatter. As long as his little Apple was healthy and (relatively) safe, then Ichigo would simply have to cut his losses and take solace in whatever small victories he could.

Shit, speaking of Nelliel…

"Nel? Oi, Nel!" he hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth as anxious ochre orbs scanned the dense flora of the forested landscape. "Nelliel! Where are you?"

"Shouting like that will attract wolves, _amigo_…" a rough and foreign voice informed him from behind. "Not to mention the arrhythmia I'm currently suffering."

Heart suddenly dropping from throat to gut, Ichigo whirled around to face the origin of the lazy drawl, his left hand clutching the fabric of his shirt on his chest whilst his right automatically patted about his hips, wildly searching for the ever dependable revolver he _knew_ was no longer in his possession.

Old habits really _do_ die hard.

After the initial shock – and scandalised fright – wore off, as the heady rush of adrenaline began to ebb away, ochre eyes zeroed in on the stranger leisurely reclining against the worn old shack. Ichigo couldn't see the man's face, not with his head tipped down and a broad rimmed black hat shadowing what little there was on offer, but one thing was for damn sure; this man had _definitely_ not been with them last night. Posed as the man was, with his back resting against the wall behind him, one long leg stretched out over the grass in front of him and the other bent at the knee to support his arm at the wrist, Ichigo would have swore that the man was sleeping – you know, had he not spoken mere moments ago and scared the _living fuck_ clean out of him.

"Who are you?" Ichigo demanded, his hands balling empty and useless by his sides. "Why are you here and what have you done with my daughter?"

"Maa. So many questions so early in the day…" The stranger gave a wide-jawed yawn, scratching idly at his cheek as he shifted his position. "And I was having such a wonderful nap, too… Oh, well. I guess these things can't be helped."

Taking a guarded step back when the man slowly brought his other leg up underneath him and rather grudgingly hauled himself to his feet, Ichigo felt his jaw slacken a tad at the simple yet rugged attractiveness of the stranger. The man was tall, maybe not quite as tall as Grimmjow but not far from it; perhaps just over six feet if he had to hazard a guess. He had a lean torso and long limbs, but far from looking thin or spindly, they rather looked sturdy and well defined. He wore black pants and a smoky grey shirt with the collar buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, advertising the healthy glow of his sun kissed flesh. Large, slender hands were concealed beneath white leather gloves, and he wore an extravagant looking white waistcoat that fastened up the middle but had decorative buttons sewn down either side. The neckline of the waistcoat, as well as the half chaps hugging powerful calves, appeared to be lined with what looked to be genuine grey wolf fur, lending the man a wild and untameable kind of countenance.

Ichigo swallowed reflexively as the new arrival stopped less than a foot away, close enough for Ichigo to catch scent of a stimulating musk, like the woodlands after a rainstorm mingled rather tartly with the distinct stench of cigarette smoke. Oddly enough, the elder man made it work; it suited him.

"It's a pleasure to formally meet your acquaintance, _señor_ Kurosaki," the man rumbled in a deep and pleasing baritone, his head finally tilting back and hand stretched out in acknowledgement. "My name is Coyote Starrk."

Ichigo – admittedly a tad too awestruck to function at full capacity – automatically slipped his hand into the larger one offered, dumbly allowing the older male to orchestrate their handshake. This man, this Coyote Starrk, was quite frankly _smouldering_ in his handsomeness. Now that the early morning sun was splashed across his face, Ichigo could discern pronounced cheekbones, a straight narrow nose, prominent jaw line, stormy grey eyes, and thin yet fully ravishable lips. Shoulder length, wavy brown hair, a faded goatee and slight wrinkling around the eyes made the man look so distinguished, adding a certain casual charm to the whole package that made Ichigo's tongue feel like sandpaper as it adhered to the roof of his mouth.

When the elder gave a lazy grin at the lack of reception upon the younger's part, Ichigo had to catch himself from swooning.

"Ne-Nelliel…?" Ichigo eventually croaked out, mentally chastising himself for the demeaning stutter as he disengaged their prolonged contact. Clearing his throat, he attempted to be more assertive – it certainly wouldn't do to give the man any more leverage over him than he had already. "Where is my daughter, Coyote?"

"Starrk, if you don't mind," he replied, rubbing a hand over his chin and mouth. Ichigo narrowed his eyes in suspicion – was he yawning _again_? "Nobody calls me by my given name anymore."

Without really meaning to, Ichigo agreed to the request with a subtle nod of the head. "Okay… In that case, where is my daughter, _Starrk_?"

With a gravelly chuckle, Starrk moseyed back to where he'd been sitting before the interruption, basically falling over in a heaving heap of limb and musculature, and yet somehow making it look so fluid and graceful.

"Come, sit," Starrk said, patting the patch of grass by his hip suggestively. "I always appreciate companionship when the climate is amicable. If only we had a bottle of rum, then it would be _muy bien_."

Ichigo blinked, stupefied. _Was this guy for real?_ "Are you kidding? It's barely even morning…"

"Hmm, you're absolutely right," Starrk conceded, a lopsided smile curling his lips. "A warm cup of tequila would be much better."

"Look, I don't know what kind of mind games you're trying to play here, but it isn't going to work," Ichigo growled, his fragile temper flaring at the elder's blatant dodging of the subject. "I demand to know what you're doing here _and_ what you've done with Nel. I swear, if you've hurt her…"

He let the unspoken threat linger, hoping that the implication would speak volumes for itself. Regrettably, Starrk didn't appear intimidated or perturbed in the slightest.

"I am a man of many flaws, _mi amigo_," Starrk began, draping his arms over his knees and hanging his head so that his face was once again obscured by shadows. "I've robbed and plundered, succumbed to curvaceous temptation and lost my soul in the bottom of a whiskey jar. I have killed in cold blood and am man enough to admit that I feel no guilt for the choices I have made in life…" Inclining his head back, Starrk pinned the pretty orangette with the kind of unwavering gaze that bode no quarrel. "But you can rest assured, _niño_, that I could never raise my hand to physically harm a defenceless child. _Señorita_ Jaegerjaques is nearby and she is very safe, on that you have my word; as both a gentleman and a father."

"And you expect me to trust you? Just like that?" Ichigo spat incredulously. "You _abducted_ us. You took us away from our home and broke up our family, and you want me to just take you at your word that everything's gonna be okay? You must be fucking _insane_ if you think that I'm going to sit here and play the obedient little hostage! I don't care what happens to me, I'll fight you every single step of the way!"

"Such fire and passion, _muchacho_," Starrk commended, moderately impressed by the younger's fearless spirit. Not many could boast that they faced any one member of the Espada and exercised the same kind of bravado. This foxy orangette was truly a breath of fresh air. "However, I would implore you to consider your actions more carefully in the future. It would be a frightful shame if anything were to happen to young Miss Nelliel simply because you didn't know when to hold your tongue."

"You would really threaten a helpless child?" Ichigo snarled, ochre eyes constricting to slits and nostrils flaring. "What happened to your so-called 'word'?"

"I've been doing this a long time, _señor_. I know how people think, and how to exploit their weaknesses. Trust me when I say that I wouldn't need to hurt the girl in any manner to make you more complicit."

Ichigo clenched his jaw and studied the man before him, looking underneath what was physically apparent, beyond what anybody could see from a single glance, to the expertly disguised man hidden beneath it all. Ichigo was by no means a fool; he knew that Starrk's outward pretence of bone idle indifference was nothing more than a guise, a poker-faced bluff used to fool those who were too blind to know any better.

For Ichigo's protection (and the blunette's own peace of mind) Grimmjow had taught him how to read people, how to tell the difference between predator and prey – and this man quite obviously fell under the former. He may appear harmless enough, his manners deceivingly apathetic in nature, but it was learning how to decipher the difference between what was genuine and what was counterfeit; a difference that could be the deciding factor between life and death.

Ichigo couldn't afford to take any chances, not when Nelliel's safety was hanging in the balance right alongside his own, and he suddenly found himself very grateful for Grimmjow's spur-of-the-moment lecture; one that resonated so vividly to this very day…

...

...

_**A few months prior, the Jaegerjaques' Ranch, Beecher's Hope**_

"Jesus fuck, Grimm! Could you be a little more careful back there?"

"Stop yer gripin', Kurosaki. If ya hadn't been such a gullible fuckin' halfwit, then none'a this would've happened in the first place… _Sit still_, damn it!"

Ichigo glared and clenched his fists, but said nothing more. It was late March, around nine or so in the evening, Nelliel was tucked away in bed for the night and he and Grimmjow were enjoying a quiet bath together…

"Argh, shit! That fucking stings, Grimmjow!"

"_Goddamn_– If ya don' stop squirmin' around then am'a give ya somethin' much worse to fuckin' cry about! Now shut up an' take it like a man!"

…okay, so it wasn't necessarily quiet, nor enjoyable, but the fact remains.

Ichigo hissed, fingers curling tight around the rim of the tub and turning his knuckles white as Grimmjow diligently worked on his injured shoulder. The blunette sat behind him, legs bent on either side of Ichigo's hips and eyebrows knitting in concentration as he attempted to extract a wayward bullet from the gnarly bullet wound marring the otherwise flawless flesh of his lover's right shoulder blade. With little more than a small switchblade and a bottle of whiskey (which Ichigo had promptly commandeered) to work with, it was safe to assume it was going to be a _long_ night for the both of them.

"C'mon ya jammy buggar," Grimmjow muttered to himself as he carefully burrowed deeper with the knife, licking his lips when Ichigo stifled an agonised sob and tensed under his fingertips. Holding an alcohol soaked rag against the angrily weeping gouge, he gave a mental sigh of relief when he finally caught sight of the silver slug, the tarnished metal glinting against the dim lighting. "Got'cha, ya wee fucker!" he crowed in triumph, ever so slowly angling the knife to hook underneath the blasted thing. "Okay, babe, nearly there. Drink up, 'cause this ain't gonna be pretty…"

Ichigo did as he was told, taking a hearty swig from the half empty bottle just as Grimmjow bore down with the blade. The pain was exquisite in its intensity, the numbing quality to the alcohol providing no sufficient barrier to the acute burn that lashed down his spine and seized the surrounding muscle. A soft _'clunk'_ announced the removal of the bullet as Grimmjow dropped it uncaring on the floor beside the tub, and Ichigo immediately slumped forward as a bout of euphoric reprieve turned his bone to rubber.

"Ya did good," Grimmjow consoled the lightly panting orangette, his left hand rubbing soothing circles into his uninjured shoulder. Though, behind the security of his lover's back, Grimmjow was sporting a troubled frown.

The wound wasn't particularly alarming, the slug having been removed optimally and with minimal damage to the surrounding tissue, but it was bleeding unremittingly, a steady stream of scarlet staining the peachy skin of Ichigo's back and turning the bathwater a gruesome ruddy colour. Cleaning the wound as efficiently and tenderly as he could, Grimmjow felt a low growl reverberating in the back of his throat as he recalled the deliberate homicide attempt on his lover.

Earlier that morning the day had been beautiful, painting serene pictures of crystalline blue skies and sun-soaked fields. Not wishing to bother the devil with his idle hands, Grimmjow had made the most of the glorious day by working up a hard earned sweat; he fed and watered the horses, collected fresh eggs from the chickens, scared off a curious cougar roaming a little too close his property, took the wagon into town for corn sacks, indulged in some 'afternoon delight' with his Berry whilst Nelliel was occupied outside, hunted for buck for that nights dinner, and then spent the better part of an hour chasing down Pantera after she bolted from the corral… and that was all before 3pm!

Come six that evening, the hard working blunette found himself enjoying a well earned cigarette out in the barn, busying himself with polishing tack and buffing bridle bits, when an angry rumble sounded from the heavens and rudely interrupted his respite. Stepping outside, he grumbled a complaint as he glanced up at the thick, ashy coloured clouds rolling in to dominate the skies, and quickly abandoned his carefree labours to rush into the house and wrangle Ichigo into saddling up with him to fetch the heard from pasture.

By the time they reached their livestock, some five miles out from the ranch, the winds had picked up speed, mutating to blustery, ice cold gales that had both men struggling to hear one another and keep their hats from taking flight. The heavens had darkened to a malicious breed of gray and charcoal, yawning open to unleash torrents of bitter rain that had their teeth clenching and their bones rattling. The dumb bovine beasts were already becoming restless, protesting against the frightening weather with loud bellowing moos and blind charging.

Knowing that they desperately needed to get going, lest they risk a mindless stampede, Ichigo steered Getsuga to the front of the heard, guiding them back toward home, and Grimmjow took up the rear to drive them on with firm commands and deal with any stragglers. Impending storm or not, when Grimmjow said it was time to get a move on, _it was time to get a fucking move on_.

The clattering din of a cowbell distracted Grimmjow momentarily, and he turned Pantera in the direction of three startled cows that had broken off from the main group. After rounding up the stupid animals, the blunette was alarmed to return and find that Ichigo was no longer alone. The howling wind prevented him from discerning what was being said, but the lone stranger's mere presence was enough to put Grimmjow on instant guard, his skin prickling unpleasantly as a foreboding kind of adrenaline sparked his nerve endings.

Before the ex-gang member could react to the potential threat, two more men on horseback suddenly joined the first, flanking on either side of the herd and with their weapons already drawn…

…and then everything went to the pits of hell in the blink of an eye.

A shot was fired, cracking through the calamity of the storm like a crash of thunder and sending a ripple of panic through to Grimmjow's core. The sudden bang spooked the unsuspecting cattle, sending them into a hysterical tizzy and creating general chaos as they broke off into smaller groups and scattered across the plains. That was the least of Grimmjow's concerns, however, his immediate attention instead focused on Ichigo's anguished cry as Getsuga reared up in fright and he tumbled off of the horse's back to the hard ground below.

Spurring Pantera through the throng of charging beasts, Grimmjow slung the bolt action rifle from the holster on his back and, taking a brief second to calculate his aim from the unsteady position, shot the instigator square in the chest, the force of the blow knocking him from his mount and the accuracy killing him before impact. Swinging around, he narrowed his eyes against the poor light and pouring rain, and aimed for one of the other two. The bullet sailed straight and true, but unfortunately found its target in the neck of pillager's horse, the poor animal giving a shrill neigh before biting the dirt and sending the rider tumbling to the sodden earth.

Blaspheming poetically, Grimmjow holstered the rifle and equipped his pistol instead, pivoting Pantera around until he had the optimal mark. With his arm held out at his side, straight from shoulder to fingertips, he drew a calculated breath, took aim, and squeezed the trigger… only to have a bumbling fucking cow knock into Pantera at the last conceivable second and knock the shot completely off target.

"Fucking _cowards_!" Grimmjow roared as the third man took advantage of the blessed opportunity to pick up the second, hauling his accomplice onto the back of his own horse before making a swift getaway.

Blood boiling over, Grimmjow ungraciously admitted to failure by firing several sloppy shots after the retreating pair, his breathing short and ragged and his fists shaking with anger. Suddenly remembering himself, he turned Pantera toward where Ichigo lay, dismounting before the mare had even slowed to a halt and kneeling down in the mud beside his fallen lover.

"Damn rustlers," the blunette growled darkly as he carefully gathered Ichigo into his arms, sapphire eyes tightening as he observed the herd – _their livelihood_ – literally running for the hills.

All things considered, Ichigo had been relatively fine, having realised too late that the stranger was trouble but thankfully just in time to dodge a bullet to any vital organ and take it in the back instead. They had lost six cows by the time Grimmjow had been sufficiently reassured that his lover was under no immediate threat and set out to round up the remainder of the herd. Grimmjow had been royally pissed off, more so that he hadn't responded quick enough to defend his beloved than about losing any stupid animals, but supposed it could have turned out very differently, and that they were extremely lucky that Ichigo had at least a _modicum _of wit about him.

And so here they were, left reeling in the aftermath as Ichigo cringed in pain and Grimmjow tried his best not to intentionally harm the brat further for his overwhelming stupidity.

Distractedly pressing a touch too hard on the angry gash with the crimson mottled rag, causing Ichigo to curse up a storm, he muttered a quick apology and rinsed out the cloth, tending to his love whilst inwardly turning the event over and over again in his head and committing the faces of the miscreants that got away to memory.

The thieving bandits may have evaded his scathing redemption this time; but he would _never_ forget, and he would _never_ forgive.

Being the kind of man that he was, and having witnessed the kinds of horrifying catastrophes that most would only ever see in their darkest nightmares, Grimmjow could honestly say he'd seen a lot worse than the chicken scratch Ichigo was complaining about. Hell, he'd survived a hell of lot worse _himself_. But that wasn't the point. It was the fact that Ichigo had gotten injured at all, regardless of the severity. It made him feel like he'd let the younger male down, like he couldn't even protect and provide for his own fucking family…

…and that scared him more than anything else in the world.

"Am sorry, Ichigo," Grimmjow murmured, apologising for so much more than just the pain he was causing as he held the bloody rag against the profusely haemorrhaging laceration. "Damn it. The wounds too deep; I can't stop the bleedin'… It's gonna have to be cauterised."

Ichigo bit the inside of his cheek, nausea coiling tight in his stomach and parching his throat from the sheer _thought_ of it. Grimmjow felt a twang of sympathy.

"Don't sweat it, Kurosaki," he rumbled with a teasing edge to his voice, trying to lighten the dire mood suddenly suffocating the room. "I mean come on, yer twenty-one! It's about damn time ya had a scar of yer own." Smirking, he bent forward to rest his chin on Ichigo's left shoulder, breathing hotly into his ear, "It'll make ya look badass. Everybody knows that scars are sexy as fuck."

Ichigo shivered when sharp teeth nipped playfully at his ear, appreciative that Grimmjow was at least trying to ease the tangible tension and pacify him – even if it wasn't really working. Swatting the horny blunette away, he took a measured breath and gave a sombre nod. "O-Okay… Do it, Grimm."

Inclining his head, Grimmjow reached over the edge of the tub to grab the iron poker resting in a bucket of red hot coals, thankful that he'd had the foresight to bring it in with them just in case this very scenario had arisen. Ichigo had damn near had a hernia when he'd suggested that cauterising was a grim possibility, so Grimmjow could only surmise that he was feeling pretty fucking anxious right now.

Wrapping an arm around the orangette's neck, Grimmjow pulled him against his chest and pressed a loving kiss to his cheek. "It'll all be over soon, Kitten. I promise," he hummed soothingly to the rattled Ichigo, before presenting his left forearm to the younger's mouth. "Bite down as hard as ya want."

"I'm not a baby, Grimm," Ichigo scowled in offence, falling back on his default attitude of hot headedness and slapping the arm away. "I can take a little pain. I don't need to be mollycoddled."

"I didn't say otherwise," Grimmjow shrugged, keeping his tone deliberately offhand so as not to upset Ichigo's injured pride further. "I was thinkin' more about Nel, an' how ya might not wanna wake her up with all yer howlin'. Especially since it took ya nearly half an hour to put her down in the first place…"

Ichigo knew what Grimmjow was doing, he'd made it so _blindingly_ obvious. But again, he was very grateful for the consideration. "I guess you have a point…"

"Don't I always?" Grimmjow gave a wolfish smirk when Ichigo shot him a withering glare over his shoulder, but sobered up when the younger took a deep breath and gripped his forearm with shaky fingers in preparation. Kissing that head full of sunset orange tresses, Grimmjow steeled his nerves and pursed his lips. "Ya ready, babe?" Ichigo gave a half-hearted grunt of confirmation, not trusting himself to speak, and Grimmjow felt his heart pang wretchedly. "Alright… Deep breath in, Kitten. Here we go…"

The cringe-worthy sound and repugnant smell of burning flesh wasn't exactly anything new to the hardened blunette – he'd long since lost count of the amount of times he'd had to cauterise wounds of all shapes and sizes for his ex-comrades, and of the many times he'd had to grin and bear the excruciating pain himself, but this time was different. This was _Ichigo_, the love of his life. The tortured screams barely muffled against the skin of his arm were stabbing miserably at his heart, the pain of Ichigo's teeth as they ripped into his sun kissed flesh barely registering as tears of distress leaked from the corner of his lover's eyes and rolled down peachy cheeks.

The whole ordeal was eating Grimmjow alive.

When the blood finally coagulated and ceased to flow, Grimmjow quickly removed the burning poker from Ichigo's skin and threw it back into the bucket. The wound looked grisly, the extensive tissue damage no doubt going to leave a lasting scar, but with it would always be the charred reminder of what he had to lose in the world, and Grimmjow made a solemn vow right then and there to never again let Ichigo feel such pain.

Gently gathering the sobbing Berry into his arms, carefully turning him so that Ichigo was leaning the left side of his body against his chest, Grimmjow wound his arms around a slender waist and kissed the boy's temple. Tiny droplets of tears glistened like diamonds on Ichigo's dark eyelashes, his chest stuttering with each shaky inhale, and Grimmjow felt his gut twist violently.

"Shh," he murmured softly, stroking the pad of his thumb under tear stained eyes. "It's over now. Yer gonna be fine."

Ichigo drew in a shuddering breath, hating how pathetic and weak he must seem right now. He'd seen Grimmjow's body, knew in intimate detail the extensive repertoire of scars and blistering scabs the blunette had collected over the many years he'd spent as an outlaw. For instance, the carving across his right forearm, a defensive wound whilst trying to protect a downed comrade; the blemish on his upper left thigh from a through-and-through bullet on a botched bank robbery; that awful scorch on his lower back from the branding of his former rank; and who could forget that long, nasty slash decorating his chiselled torso from collarbone to hip, gained whilst shielding Ichigo from harm when a gang of thieves tried to ambush them on their way back home one evening. Grimmjow had so many, each one telling a different tale of woe and suffering, and yet Ichigo seriously doubted that Grimmjow had ever showed such weakness over any of them. Christ, he felt so fucking _feeble _when compared to the tapestry of his lover's body.

Unbeknownst to the self-loathing younger, Grimmjow knew exactly how he felt. Okay, so he'd never outright _cried_ before, but experiencing your very first hit from a full metal trajectile, feeling it rip through skin and muscle and bone, and at the tender age of just fifteen, it was suffice to say that Grimmjow had made quite the fucking scene. He'd been young and naïve, and so very dramatic back then, but each and every hit he took taught him to be that little bit more wary of the world and of the people living in it. It made him hard and callous and ridiculously untrusting, but such a cynical outlook had gotten him this far, not to mention had saved his ass on more than one occasion, so he couldn't exactly complain.

And now it was his responsibility– nay, his _duty_, to pass that wisdom on to his lover. He could only hope that such cruelty and heartlessness wouldn't permanently douse the boy's fiery spirit…

"Yo, listen up," he said, shattering the heavy silence settling down around their shoulders. "Ya got lucky today, brat. A cauterised wound ain't nuthin' compared to the kinds of horrors I've seen out there… I mean, _shit_, an inch or two either way an' I could'a been draggin' yer carcass back, explainin' to a heartbroken Nelly that ya weren't ever comin' home again." Gazing down into bleary ochre eyes, Grimmjow blinked slowly and felt his heart stutter. "Ya really fuckin' scared me today, Ichigo. I keep thinkin' 'what if it had been worse'? What if I hadn't been there? Or ya didn't get out of the way in time? _Damn_, Berry… I can't lose you. Don'tcha get it? Am not strong enough to live without ya…"

Ichigo bit his bottom lip, shameful tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Grimmjow… I didn't know they were rustlers. He said he wanted to help, and with the storm and the commotion I just didn't think. He seemed so kind and genuine… I had no idea he was just trying to distract me. I should've known better…"

"Yeah, ya should've," Grimmjow chided coldly, making Ichigo wince at the biting tone. "But that's _my_ fault – I should'a taught ya better. Yer my lover, damn it! Shit, even _Apple_ knows not to talk to strangers."

Ichigo didn't know whether to be disgruntled that Grimmjow was implying he was helpless without his instruction, or insulted that he was insinuating a seven year old was more competent than he was. In the end he settled for a potent mixture of the two.

Gingerly sitting up to face the blunette, Ichigo furiously wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand and attempted to look intimidating. "I may not be as well versed in the world of sin and deceit as you are, but that doesn't mean I'm a fucking moron. I know how to look after myself, Grimmjow; with or without your help."

"And today?" Grimmjow asked, not missing a beat.

"Today was a fluke, a mistake," Ichigo snapped. "I won't be fooled twice."

"Damn straight ya won't, 'cause I'm gonna teach ya how to read people."

Ichigo deflated a little at that, sinking back to regard his blue-haired lover. "What do you mean 'read people'?"

"Not everybody wears their heart on their sleeve like you do, Berry," Grimmjow began, pulling Ichigo against him so that they lay chest to chest. "Sometimes ya got'a look beneath the mask to separate the sheep from the wolves, ya get me?"

"But I was always taught to take people at face value," Ichigo argued, his lips tugging down into a frown. "I can't spend my whole life being constantly suspicious of every single person I meet, that's no way to live. People should be given a fair chance; innocent until proven guilty."

"Keh, see? That's exactly how ya end up in fixes like today. There's such a thing as bein' _too_ trustin', y'know. If ya let people walk all over ya like some old doormat, then how the hell can ya ever expect anyone to show ya any respect? Respect should be fought for an' earned, not put out on display like some cheap whore lookin' to score."

"If I had lived like that, callously prosecuting people on sight, then I never would've stopped that day." Ichigo needn't specify which day he was talking about, Grimmjow knew all too well to what he was referring. "I would have simply assumed the worst, turned my back on you and Nel and never looked back. You would've _died_, Grimmjow. Nel would be an orphan living on the streets, or worse, selling herself for money. I would never have met you; never have laughed with you or lived with you or kissed you…" Ichigo dropped his gaze and looked away, a hot blush painting his cheeks an endearing pink. "I would never have fallen in love, Grimm. I would be all alone."

"Pretty lil' thing like _you_? Never." Curling his hands around the ones resting on his chest, Grimmjow intertwined their fingers together, his thumbs stroking tenderly over the smooth skin. "I can't say fer sure what may or may not've happened to me if ya hadn't come along that day. I might've pulled through, or I might've been chow fer the buzzards; who knows?" Lifting Ichigo's left hand to his mouth, he brushed his lips lovingly over his knuckles. "But ya got'a admit, takin' me home with ya that day is probably the most idiotic, unfathomably asinine stunt ya've ever pulled in yer life."

Ichigo gaped, bewildered. "Ehh? But I– You… _What_?"

"Ya let a gang member into yer _home_, Ichigo. Ya put not only yerself, but yer _entire family_ at risk. I could'a killed ya." Grimmjow stated it so monotonously, like it was stone-cold fact. Which, quite ironically, it _was_. "I don't regret yer judgement, downright foolish as it was, but I can't stand by an' let ya continue to be such an impulsive fuckwit anymore. The Wild West ain't got no room for guileless little kiddies; it chews 'em up an' spits 'em right back out again. Today is proof of that. If ya don't wise up to the world, then ya'd better be prepared to get crushed beneath her boot – an' I'll be damned if I let that happen to ya, Ichigo. Ya made yer bed when ya decided to save me, now… _lie in it_."

Ichigo stammered, trying to come up with some sort of cutting rebuttal, but ultimately drew a blank and huffily glowered at the wall off to the side. Cocky smirk out in full flourish, Grimmjow seized the pouty orangette's chin and pulled him in for a soul-searing kiss, the tepid bathwater sloshing gently about their bodies as Ichigo reluctantly complied with his passionate whim. Not that he had much of a choice to begin with.

Grimmjow took a long moment to really appreciate the kiss, to appreciate Ichigo. He wasn't kidding before when he said that he didn't know how to live without him. Sure they hadn't known each other that long – Grimmjow had had longer relationships with saloons – but he already knew that his life without peach hued skin and sunshiny tresses would be empty; didn't bear thinking about.

Ichigo was like air; Grimmjow simply couldn't breathe without him.

With Ichigo sprawled comfortably between his spread thighs, Grimmjow traced his fingertips down the boy's spine before settling his large palms on the firm, rounded globes of his bottom. From this position, Grimmjow could feel the strong and steady beat of Ichigo's heart thumping against his own chest, the slowly escalating _ba-bump,_ _ba-bump, ba-bump_ warming his blood and causing his lips to quirk up into a doting smile. It was tangible proof that Ichigo was alive and well, that he was still here with him and still loving him – and that alone was enough to make Grimmjow feel grounded again.

Drawing away from the heated kiss that tasted of adoration and whiskey, Grimmjow grinned at the beautiful sight of his younger lover's flushed cheeks and nicely swelling lips. He could feel his inner deviant stirring restlessly, and wanted nothing more than to sate the feral beast right then and there – but ravishing his pretty Berry would just have to wait. As of right now, there were far more pressing issues to deal with.

"We'll continue this later," Grimmjow rumbled seductively, nipping at Ichigo's bottom lip in promise.

"Grimmjow…" Ichigo groused, trying to tempt the blunette into another steamy kiss – and failing quite miserably.

"Lesson number one," Grimmjow chuckled with a healthy dose of taunting mirth, kissing the griping brat between his cutely furrowed brows. "Everybody is _guilty_ until proven _innocent_…"

...

...

Surprisingly enough, Ichigo had learned a lot from Grimmjow that night. The wound on his shoulder had indeed scarred, the flesh hard and puckered and off-colour, but it was a painful reminder of his previous naivety and susceptible innocence. Every time the disfigured skin pulled or flared up in irritation, he would remember that day and Grimmjow's words, and his resolve hardened that little bit more. Ichigo wore the imperfection like a commemorative badge; never again would he fall prey to another's deception.

Thanks in large to Grimmjow's impromptu council, Ichigo was more than capable to assess Starrk swiftly and competently – although he couldn't say he was exactly thrilled at his findings.

Starrk positively screamed skill and proficiency, if only you knew where to look. It was there in the way that his hands were always open and unoccupied (no awkward fumbling to snatch up a firearm); the way that he lounged lethargically yet always inclined forward (optimum for springing to ones feet in a hurry); the way he kept his general visage hidden from view yet never ceased in his constant vigil of the immediate surroundings (every single twitch or movement that Ichigo had made had been noted and silently evaluated).

From this much alone, Ichigo was able to discern one very valuable piece of information; Coyote Starrk was not to be underestimated.

"You look stressed," Starrk observed, languidly arching a brow when the comment earned a piqued snort in response.

"Stressed? That's putting it mildly. I'm not stupid; I know who you are."

"Oh?" Starrk was genuinely amused, and couldn't help but wonder if the little vixen was always this prickly and cantankerous. "_Por favor, amigo_. Who am I?"

"One of _them_," Ichigo bristled, each syllable saturated in venom. "An Espada."

"Is that why you're upset?"

"I'm right, aren't I?" Ichigo insisted, not about to let the man evade yet another question with ambiguity.

Starrk stared fixatedly at him for countless seconds, a soft morning breeze dancing through the space between them as they ticked by. With a subtle grin and a carefree shrug, Starrk answered with a simple, "_Sí_."

Ichigo balked, torn between astonishment that he actually obtained a direct answer from the casuistic man, and a welling panic upon realising that said answer was not entirely what he had wanted to hear.

"Your apprehension is understandable, but not necessary," Starrk drawled, deliberately relaxing his posture to communicate a non-threatening ambience. "There would be no sense in killing you, not when your wellbeing is crucial to the success of the mission. Besides, if I had intended on physically impairing you, then I could and would have done so already." Letting the not do hidden message sink in for a moment, he pulled a small tin from the pocket of his lavish waistcoat, procuring a cigarette from within and lighting up with the aid of a small matchbook. Taking a long, lazy drag, he exhaled the plume of toxic gas slowly, watching as the smoke caught on the wind and drifted away. "Join me, Ichigo. You have nothing to fear, not from me."

Perpetual frown relaxing a little at the explicit sincerity of Starrk's words, Ichigo tentatively approached the man and sat down, opting to sit with his legs crossed beneath him and with at least a meter separating them at the shoulders. Sure the man gave the impression of a cool and lackadaisical demeanour, but Ichigo couldn't afford to be suckered in by such affable charms. Starrk was a – _self proclaimed_ – murderer, was part of the same posse to which Ulquiorra and Yammy belonged. There may have been a time, long ago, that his lover and former Sexta might have considered Starrk a comrade, a brother; but those days were no more. The Espada were the enemy; liars, cheats and marauders, and Ichigo would do well to remember that if he ever wanted to get back home in one piece.

"So," Ichigo began, absentmindedly plucking at blades of grass as he attempted to fill the palpable silence. "What happened to Ulquiorra and the Human Tank? They bored of us already?"

"The Human Tank?" Starrk parroted and chuckled lightly, his eyes creasing at the corners. "I like that. It's very… apt."

"Thank you, I thought so." Ichigo found himself grinning smugly in return. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you're strategically dodging all of my questions, though. If you want me to remain agreeable and compliant, then you'd better start meeting me halfway."

"Hm, that would certainly be favourable," Starrk mused with a mischievous glint in those stormy eyes. "I was informed that you were volatile at best, and temperamental at least. From what I hear, you put up quite the struggle when apprehended."

"When it comes to family I would gladly fight 'til my dying breath," Ichigo said, utter conviction lacing his tone and solidifying the statement beyond conjecture.

"An honourable trait, no doubt _compadre_," Starrk consented, mentally weighing up the pros and cons of divulging any potentially sensitive intel to the captive, before raising one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "I suppose there is no harm in telling you, considering the circumstances. After relieving them of duty earlier this morning, the Cuatro and Décimo travelled on ahead. One will scout out the area of our next rendezvous, whilst the other establishes a false trail, ensuring that we are not being followed. You have been placed under my care until we reconvene at a later date."

"_Care_? Yeah, right. Don't you mean custody?" Ichigo groused, fingers clenching into the soft earth.

Starrk quirked a brow. "I may be part of the Espada, but I am not a mindless thug. My orders were clear; keep you and the child under surveillance, and by no means let either one of you escape." Here he paused, rubbing contemplatively at his goatee with the pad of his thumb. "How I go about carrying out my directive wasn't specified. So, the way I see it, as long as you behave and don't cause me any needless hassle, there's no reason we can't get through this whole ordeal in a civilised fashion."

"Ulquiorra must be crazy," Ichigo stated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Leaving me alone with a man who I have no doubt would be too damn lazy to attend his own funeral. What's to say I couldn't overpower you and make a break for it, huh? I may not have a weapon, but I know how to fight and you're only one man – a lazy blaggard at that."

Ichigo scowled when the brunette had the audacity to outright laugh at his claim, his teeth gritting and lip curling. How dare he? He may be trim in physique, and at an obvious disadvantage considering that Starrk was armed, but Grimmjow had taught him well – he could hold his own against this man! They needed him alive, Starrk had more or less confessed as much himself, otherwise their bargaining chip against Grimmjow would be null and void. That knowledge alone was enough to give Ichigo a small glimmer of hope, a smidgen of optimism that he and Nelliel could escape, or at least live long enough for his blue-haired lover to come and rescue them…

…or at least it _did_ right up until Starrk spoke next.

"I admire your strength and determination, young Ichigo. It reminds me an awful lot of a certain blue-haired desperado I used to know," Starrk offered with a charming smile. "But do you honestly think our Cuatro would leave you in the hands of anyone less than capable of executing the job?" Ichigo pursed his lips, focusing intently as Starrk began tugging at the fingers of the glove on his left hand. "I may not be much to look at, _zorrita_, but I can assure you…" After loosing it sufficiently, Starrk deftly pulled the glove free and brandished the back of his hand for Ichigo's scrutiny. "…I am a very dangerous man."

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat, an icy shiver chasing down his spine as ochre eyes drank in the sight of a dark branded number sitting proudly against golden skin, the gothic digit making a mockery of his brash declaration against the man not thirty seconds ago.

"I see the gravity of this number is not lost on you. _Bueno_. Perhaps we should start over, hm?" Starrk asked as he casually slipped the glove back onto his hand before offering his right to Ichigo. "Coyote Starrk, _Primera Espada_, at your service."

Ichigo felt his shoulder twinge uncomfortably, his higher brain functions short-circuiting and leaving his primal instincts snarling at him to fucking book it.

_One_. This lazy lump of bone and flesh was number _one._

Well…

_Damn_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Yo, partners! Okay, so "a day or two" turned into a couple of weeks - apologies! My birthday was the week before last (which was messy, ta say the least...) an' for some ungodly reason this chapter gave me a _lot_ of bother. Originally, there was more to it than this, i.e. the stuff I already had done when I'd finished the last part. Then I ended up havin' to take out the whole last bit (which will now be in the next chapter) because this one was gettin' waaaay out'a control. As per usual, ne? ^^' Sorry. The whole flashback scene, fer instance, wasn't initially in there - then the idea popped inta my head when I was workin' on this an' got completely carried away... Oops. Oh well, I thought it was kind'a cute, no?

*tumbleweed breezes by*

Movin' swiftly on...

Yay, Starrk! I love tha' man, an' am very excited fer the opportunity ta work with him fer a while. Sometimes I think he's very unappreciated, bless 'im. Don' worry, Primera - I'll give ya a good seein' to~ :3 I'll delve into Starrk's past an' involvement a lil' deeper next chapter, so "whoo-hoo!" fer those of ya out there who like our charming Coyote (: Ahaah, I went an' made Ashido Canadian - how kooky is that? The reason for it is simple really; the Manzanita store owner in the game is Canadian, an' I thought it might be fun. Turns out it was. Who'da thunk it?

Oh, an' I also realise tha' I never got round to respondin' ta all'a yer reviews last chapter - sacrilege, I know! I honestly have no idea how tha' one got away from me, but jus' so you guys know, I'm oh so very grateful fer each an' every one, an' I cannae thank y'all enough. Honestly, yer all effin' fantabulous! (Belle an' Isty - hang on tight, babes! I'll be chattin' ya's real damn soon!)

So yosh, please do enjoy at yer own free risk, mah sweets! I'll cop ya's all on flip side ^^

Ciao

**Toringtino**

~**x**~


	7. New Friends, Old Problems

**Disclaimer**: I once had a very vivid (awesome!) dream that I was literally in the _Red Dead Redemption_ world, and that I personally knew John Marston... That, whilst one of the most upsetting mornings of my life upon waking, was probably the closest I'll ever get to owning Rockstar's masterpiece that is _Red Dead Redemption_. I've had similar dreams of _Bleach_, but I don't own that either. Tarnation!

* * *

><p><em>Remember all'a y'all cowgals an' boys out there... Don't squat with your spurs on!<em>

_Yeehaw~!_

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

_'New Friends, Old Problems'_

_**Great Plains region, West Elizabeth**_

Travelling down the sun-baked dirt road away from Manzanita Post, passing the hunting grounds of Broken Tree where wild boar roamed in abundance, Grimmjow stretched up a weary hand and tugged his hat off, using his forearm to wipe the beading sweat from his brow. The morning sun was stifling, the climate arid and the vast open plains shimmering like a mirage under the beguiling haze of the heat. Beneath him Pantera was dragging her feet, her head drooped low and tail constantly swishing, the mare obviously baking under the vengeful glare of the rising sun. A few small critters; rabbits, mice, shrews and the likes, scampered by, darting through and under her long legs undoubtedly looking for shelter from the beating golden rays. Fortunately for the few brave enough to bask in the shade her large body provided underneath her belly, the usually spirited mare was much too fatigued to startle or attempt to chase them away.

Huffing out a panting breath and using the broad rim of his Stetson to fan cool air against his sticky skin, Grimmjow raised an arm to shadow his eyes and looked to the horizon, his heart thumping just that little bit louder in his ears as his destination slowly rose from the obscuring ripples of the heatwave.

"Well, there she is," he muttered darkly and mostly to himself, though Pantera still swivelled an ear back in acknowledgement. "Blackwater."

Situated a brief thirty minute ride away from his humble ranch in Beecher's Hope (though in reality it had taken the pair damn near forty minutes under the oppressive influence of the sun) lay the industrialized settlement of Blackwater. With cobblestone roads – highlighted quite beautifully at night with a multitude of streetlamps – working telephone lines, and even two or three first production automobiles belonging to those with enough power and influence to obtain them, Blackwater was easily the largest and most highly developed city the region had to offer.

Grimmjow didn't particularly care for the place. He was a simple man with simple tastes, and the fast-paced modernisation that seemed to infest the diverse city like a plague was enough to make him feel uneasy. The thought of big fancy houses, high-classed businesses and hotels, and people travelling around on four wheels instead of four legs just didn't sit right in his gut. It wasn't the world he was brought up in, and hell if he was ever going to adapt to a new way of life. The heart of the Wild West would forever run thick and free throughout his veins; he lived his life as an outlaw and a gunslinger, and that's exactly how he intended it all to end.

Gradually making his way in from the southern most road, Grimmjow gathered up the slack in the reins, perking Pantera up into a more collected walk and carried his head low, his heart beating a slow and steady rhythm as he crossed the invisible threshold of dusty trail to hard, cobbled street. The south end of the town was considerably less modern, with older buildings, slum housing and even a few plots of farmland, though it did little to put the wary blunette at ease. He swore to himself, time and time again, that he would never set foot in this godforsaken city again for as long as he lived, not since that fateful day almost ten years prior.

Dubbed the "Blackwater Massacre" of 1901, Grimmjow and his felonious brothers, as well as a select handful of the Mexican Army, were ordered to storm the town after news of its rapid industrial development reached the ever prying ears of their boss. Essentially, they were to take it by force, to use any means necessary to infiltrate and usurp the flourishing economy before it became too powerful to influence and control. As the rather befitting title suggests, the plan went completely and utterly tits up. Even back then, the Blackwater Police Department was nothing to be scoffed at; they had modern weapons, large numbers and superior tactics, their opposition was severe and many lives were lost, both upstanding lawmen and debauched vagabonds.

Grimmjow had come to several hard and soul-destroying realisations that day. First and foremost, he realised that his boss (and in many ways his creator) was a cold and deceiving sonuvabitch; a power hungry illusionist who had nothing but his own interests at heart and who would crush anybody that got in his way without so much as batting an eye. He realised that he and his closest comrades were little more than pawns being used and manipulated in a game of thrones that was so much bigger than any single one of them could have imagined. Two of the Espada died on that day, their aged old _Segunda_ Baraggan, and Zommari, their spiritual _Séptima_,and it was then that Grimmjow came to the most earth-shattering realisation of all; he wasn't invincible.

The Blackwater Massacre was nothing more than a bloody gunfight that stained the streets in crimson and forever tarnished the records with a black mark, but from the ashes of such travesty raised a small bud of hope, and Grimmjow vowed to never again underestimate an enemy, a lesson only strengthened with the unexpected arrival of Nelliel into his life and the fortuitous meeting of Ichigo. If ever he had to willingly lay down his life, then it wouldn't be for some bullshit blood feud for a heartless dictator he once upon a time looked up to like a wayward son would a father figure, hell no. If ever the time came, he would do it for his heart and with a big ol' smile on his face knowing that he'd given his all for his most precious people, the only two beings in his life worth a damn; worth his immortal soul.

Crashing back down to earth, Grimmjow buried all thoughts of the past deep down inside and urged Pantera down the busy Main Street, where the majority of proprietors were established. Skin prickling uncomfortably, he could feel the eyes of just about every local milling about the already bustling streets boring holes right through to his core. Logic and reason was telling him the inhabitants were merely curious because he was obviously from out of town, that they were staring at his outlandish hair colour and the polished arsenal strapped about his body, but his irrational paranoia was screaming at him that they _knew_, knew who he was and about the multitude of sins he had yet to pay back with his pound of flesh.

Fixing his hat tighter about his head in a subconscious effort to hide his vibrantly recognisable tresses, the cagey ex-gang member kept his sapphire eyes trained on the plaza at the junction up ahead, barely resisting the urge to spur Pantera on faster just so he could escape the judgemental eyes peering through to the very centre of his damnable being.

By the time he'd reached his destination he was a nervous wreck. The sound of Pantera's shoed hooves clip-clopping against the pavement was like thunder to his sensitive hearing, whilst his fingers twitched periodically for the familiar weight of his loyal pistol and a tense perspiration gathered on his nape. Yanking back on the reins hard enough to make Pantera stomp her foot and flick her tail in annoyance, Grimmjow tethered the mare to the wooden railing of a raised bandstand situated in the centre of the plaza and blotted the sweat from his face with the rolled cuff of his shirt. As he tilted his head back to gaze up at the imposing building before him, eyes squinting against the low morning sun, he could honestly say that he'd never been more thrilled to see a federal agency in all his life.

"Bureau of Investigation," he read aloud of the stone carved inscription above the entrance, an American flag fluttering patriotically in the cooling breeze on either side. Inwardly snorting, he straightened out his waistcoat and brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder, turning to Pantera for approval. "How do I look, girl?"

The Appaloosa mare whinnied and tossed her head, startling a middle-aged couple who took one look at the blunette and hurried about their business. Grimmjow gave a wolfish smirk at the alarmed reaction, feeling much more at ease, and a whole lot bolder, now that he was within arms reach of his objective.

"Good." Rolling his neck to work out the kinks his pent up stress had caused, he reached down and, with a cool kind of indifference considering what he was about to deliberately saunter into, drew his colt from its holster. With one last look over his shoulder to Pantera, he cocked the deadly firearm, the resounding click-clack flooding his body with a rush of adrenaline and provoking the stirrings of a shit-eating grin. _Ah, this is much better_. "Let's get this party started, ne?"

Pantera watched with big, curious brown eyes as her master disappeared through the large double doors of the government building, her ears pricking forward to sate her nosey animalistic nature. Not two seconds after that head-full of bright blue hair vanished did the thunderous bang of a gunshot sound out, followed swiftly by the terrorised screaming of terrified citizens as they piled out of the building, tripping and falling over one another in their haste to escape the gun-toting madman.

Snorting when more than one ignorant human barged and bullied their way past her, Pantera swished her tail and flattened her ears back.

_What on earth was Grimmjow up to…?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Meanwhile…<strong>_

Ichigo didn't know what to do, what he possibly _could_ do. Shit, he didn't even know what to _say _right now. What does one say when they find themselves in the company of a known killer and outlaw? Not just that, but a killer and outlaw whose sole purpose it was to hold you hostage by any means necessary?

Jesus fuck, did he have the worst kind of luck or what?

The silence was deafening to Ichigo, his body tense and perched in a maddening state of hyper-awareness so that every little sound and movement caused him to flinch or react before his mind could catch up. When Starrk silently finished his cigarette and flicked the still smouldering butt off to the side Ichigo damn near slipped into cardiac arrest and had to fight down what was sure to be a startled yelp of emasculating proportions. Starrk merely bit back a teasing smirk as he lazed against their temporary abode.

"There's really no need for concern, _compadre_," Starrk droned, watching his present company from the corner of a stormy eye. "I have absolutely no intentions of harming you in any way if it can be avoided. As for the former Sexta's child, she is also quite well as I have told you. She crept out of your cabin at first light, and has spent the entire morning thus far reacquainting herself with an old friend. Rather loudly, I might add."

"An old friend?" Ichigo queried, quickly managing to gather his wits about him as he scrambled to his feet. He didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. "Who? Is it someone I know? Where did they take her?"

"You sure do like to ask a lot of questions…" Starrk observed with a small yawn and no real desire to answer any one of them. Answering one question usually equated to answering follow-up questions, and the Primera found the whole process far too arduous to indulge.

"Well pardon my scepticism," Ichigo said icily, eyes narrowing. "But the last 'old friends' we happened across knocked me out cold and then _kidnapped_ us."

Starrk made a soft noise of concurrence in the back of his throat. "Mm. That is most unfortunate. I do hope you dropped their social status to acquaintance after such an atrocity."

Ichigo sputtered, at a total loss for words. What the hell was _with_ this guy? Should he even bother to take the Espada soldier's rank seriously if Starrk himself wasn't inclined to do so?

"You know what? _Fine_. If you don't want to tell me where Nel is then I'll just go find her myself. Primera or not, you can't stop me."

Starrk gave a deep suffering sigh as Ichigo about turned and began storming off. This was turning out to be much more troublesome than he was initially lead to believe.

"Ichigo, come back and sit down."

"Fuck you!" Ichigo spat in return, his pace unfaltering. "If you want me, then come and get me, because short of hogtieing me to a tree there's nothing you can–"

An all too familiar whoosh of air, followed swiftly by a bone-chilling _thwump_, had Ichigo cutting off midsentence – and promptly halting mid-stride. Fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, ochre eyes slid slowly to the right, confirming that which his highly tuned survival instincts already knew; that he'd narrowly escaped an untimely and certain demise. For there, embedded straight and deep in the tree trunk beside him, was the thin, stiletto blade of a throwing knife.

"Join me, Ichigo," Starrk's gravelly voice called out to him, his blasé tone implying a suggestion even though both knew it was anything but. "Oh, and if it's not too much trouble, my knife _por_ _favor_."

Heart having a conniption, Ichigo swallowed hard against his budding fear and raised a lightly trembling hand to rub at his throat, the phantom feeling of the blade sailing mere millimetres from the peachy flesh still fresh and giving rise to goosebumps. That was no mistake, no unfortunate lapse in judgement; Starrk had missed _on purpose_, and it was that knowledge alone that had Ichigo terrified to the roots. Not to mention more inclined to do as he was told from that moment onwards.

After a minor struggle – _holy cow, he'd have been dead on fucking impact!_ – Ichigo finally managed to pry the slender blade from the wooden trunk. Holding the weighted weapon almost reverently, he returned it to its owner, strategically avoiding all contact with the Primera as he took up his previous position sat beside the man. Well, at least it wasn't hard to fathom how Starrk might have obtained such a prestigious rank amongst his comrades after that spectacle.

Easily sensing the boy's discomfort, Starrk delicately replaced the knife into the corresponding holster hidden within his waistcoat.

"I don't enjoy using force, _amigo_," Starrk began, a little stab of guilt settling in his gut when the orangette visibly balked.

"Oh yeah," Ichigo scoffed, his boyish features twisted into a dark scowl. "Just like your _buddy_ Yammy didn't enjoy layin' me out, or Ulquiorra didn't enjoy striking Nel. I saw the bruising, I'm not an idiot," he hissed venomously at Starrk's questioning glance.

"We're soldiers, Ichigo," Starrk replied with a noncommittal shrug. "We have our orders to follow and Generals to obey, just like everybody else. You and I are not all that different."

"You and I are nothing alike!" Ichigo snarled, taking offence to the very notion of such a thing. "You lie and steal and _kill_. You're _monsters_!"

Starrk remained unfazed, a small, sombre smile ghosting across his lips. "We all do what we have to in order to get by, _niño_. Not all of us can boast treasured childhoods surrounded with family and love and warmth." Tilting his head to the side to better gauge the younger's reaction, the Primera drawled, "How can you claim us monsters when you know nothing about how we've lived and where we came from? Can you look at me now and tell me honestly that if you had lived as I did, that you would not have done the same? Are you really so different?"

Ichigo set his jaw, tearing his gaze away from those orbs of turbulent grey. "I could never take another's life… I'm not… I'm no killer."

"Aa," Starrk hummed, focusing on the subtle sway of the trees as a pleasant morning breeze stirred the leaves. "And yet… you love Grimmjow."

Ichigo's head snapped up at that, eyes constricting to slits. "And what the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"He has killed people, many people," Starrk stated factually, in no way intimidated by the little fox's bristling hackles. "He stood beside us; robbing, deceiving, running. He was our _compañero_, my brother, and back then there was little he wouldn't do to protect any one of us; even if that meant gambling the life of an innocent in exchange."

Sensing where this was heading, Ichigo wrapped his arms around his knees, stubbornly averting his gaze off to the side. "Yeah, so?"

"So, I'm curious… Where is the line, hm? If you can look past one man's evil doings, and yet condemn the next to fill the same shoes, where is the line that distinguishes the two?"

"I-I… That's not… I mean, it's…" Chewing pensively on the inside of his cheek, Ichigo cast his eyes down at his bare feet. "It's different with Grimmjow. He's… I love him."

"Mm." Starrk inclined his head, as if in agreement. "And here we sit, an outlaw and the saint," he couldn't help but grin at the resentful snort that remark elicited, "both of us just trying to make ends meet in the only way we know how. Both of us doing what we have to for the people we care about the most."

_The people we care about the most_, Ichigo mused, his insides coiling with despair. Grimmjow may not be there to hold him close and reassure him in that awkward yet endearing way that he did, but that didn't give Ichigo the liberty to go and breakdown like he so badly felt like doing at the moment. No, he had another counting on him to be her pillar of strength, depending on him to defend and protect her against each and every condemning odd currently stacked up before them.

_Nelliel…_

"Please," Ichigo beseeched, swallowing down his pride and appealing to the Primera's moral decency – if he truly had any. "If you know where Nel is, then take me to her. Please, I'm begging you; from one father to another. She's all I've got left in the world right now…"

The corner of Starrk's mouth curved into an imperceptible smirk. The foxy little orangette was actually trying to play him. Well, how's about that?

"Patience, _amigo_," Starrk hummed, spreading his legs a little wider and hooking his wrists over his knees. "I suggest you sit back and relax while you can. Lil will bring _el bebé_ to you before long."

"Lil?" Ichigo parroted, voice filling with dread over the mention of yet another affiliated gang member he knew nothing about. "Is that who took her? Is this 'Lil' person part of the Espada, too?"

Chuckling airily, Starrk tipped his hat down further over his brow, for all intents and purposes looking like he was about to take a nice wee siesta in the warming sun. "Oh boy do I envy your enthusiasm, but I guess you'll find out soon enough…"

Ichigo opened his mouth to protest, to demand answers, but got no further than that when a sudden rustling in the bushes dead ahead distracted his attention. Fearing the worst, Ichigo looked expectantly to Starrk, the older male being the one with the gun and all, only to find that the lazy bastard hadn't moved a muscle. Had he somehow already assessed the situation and concluded that they were in no immediate danger? Was he just that cocky in his abilities? Or had he actually gone and nodded off?

As the minutes idly trickled by, Ichigo was just about poised and ready to punch the infuriating man square in his handsomely chiselled jaw, but before he could make contact a blinding flash of light reflecting off of polished steel suddenly caught his eye and he faltered, slowly lowering his fist to scrutinise the deadly firearm luring him in with the sweet temptation of freedom. Never one to waste a perfectly good opportunity when it was staring him so blatantly in the face, he sucked pensively on his bottom lip and carefully inched closer to the allegedly slumbering Primera.

Subtly reaching for the pistol securely holstered at Starrk's hip, Ichigo paid close attention to the brunette's closed eyes and serene face, watching for even the barest hint that he might still be awake. Swallowing hard, he stretched out his fingers, his heart stuttering madly in his throat when the tips brushed over cold steel. Bracing himself with a deep breath to calm his rattled nerves, he began a mental countdown, planning on a rattlesnake type strike to yank the firearm free before the brunette knew what hit him.

_Three…_

He licked his lips, ochre orbs darting between the weapon and Starrk's sleeping face.

_Two…_

His fingers curled loosely about the grip, eyes narrowed in concentration as he willed down a nervous fit.

_One…_

His palm found solid purchase against the handle, his resolve set and backbone concrete. This was it, all systems were–

"Itsy-Pa!"

–_Go…?_

Ichigo gave a startled yelp when long fingers caught his wrist in a firm grasp, his mission completely aborted when his gaze snapped up to meet half-lidded, stormy grey.

"Better luck next time, _niño_," Starrk commented with a confident smirk, releasing Ichigo's wrist to stretch his arms tiredly above his head.

Ichigo blinked, a number of excuses formulating like rapid-fire on the tip of his tongue. "Eheh… Um, I wasn't–"

"Don't worry about it, _compadre_," Starrk dismissed with a yawn, one hand covering his gaping mouth and the other waving him on. Starrk didn't miss the perceptible recoil on Ichigo's part when he raised his hand, and gave a troubled frown. "I'm not Ulquiorra," he said quietly, his gaze stern yet somehow soft at the same time. "I know my word can't mean much to you, but you can trust me, Ichigo. As long as you never attack my heart, you have nothing to fear."

"Itsygo!"

Both men looked out toward the thick forest bordering the tiny clearing they were in, trying to pinpoint the source of the call; Ichigo with features painted in parental alarm, and Starrk with an indiscernible yet undeniably more placid expression.

"Go on," Starrk said, stifling a chuckle at Ichigo's needlessly concerned face. "Nelliel is calling, and I think we both know how impatient the frolicsome mare can get."

With a grateful nod to Starrk's frankly unprecedented altruism, Ichigo jumped to his feet and ran toward the dense thicket at the precise moment that a green-haired bundle of energy came charging out. Ichigo felt his heart melt with relief at the sight of his Apple unscathed and in surprisingly high spirits if the beaming smile upon her lips was any indication.

The duo met halfway, Nelliel bounding into her second father's open arms, a shrieking giggle pouring from her lips as Ichigo swept her up off the ground and held her body tight against his chest, peppering her forehead and cheeks with urgent kisses.

"Nelly," Ichigo sighed, burying his face into her flowing locks and breathing in her scent. "Thank god you're okay, I was so worried!" Gripping the snickering girl beneath the armpits, Ichigo held her out at arms length to give her a scolding frown. "What have I told you about running off like that? You need to stay by my side, where I can keep an eye on you; where I can _protect_ you."

Nelliel knew well enough to give a sheepish smile. "I'm fine, Itsy. Honest. Me and Lily were just playin' down by the stream." Stretching out her arms, she made cutesy grabbing motions with her hands, playing on Ichigo's heartstrings like a pro until he ultimately caved and drew her back into a doting embrace. Throwing her short arms around his neck, she squeezed him tight. "I would never leave you behind, daddy."

Ichigo's smile was threatening to split his face in two. He may not know what lay in wait around the next bend, couldn't tell you what to expect until the moment his blue-haired lover finally caught up to them – but what he _did_ know was that as long as he had Nelliel close to his heart everything would work out in the end. She was the rock in the whitewater rapids of his life; she would keep him from losing focus and going under. Unknowing that she was even capable, this small child would be the key to their very survival, and that was a debt that Ichigo couldn't ever hope to repay.

The tender moment of reconciliation was rather rudely interrupted with the arrival of yet another unexpected guest, the young female strolling into the clearing with the kind of confident swagger befitting someone far beyond her years. Ichigo felt his eyes bulging as the girl approached, shocked beyond comprehension at her choice of clothing – or lack thereof. The youth was undeniably very pretty, with pale lime green hair styled in a short and choppy fashion, and beautifully beguiling eyes the colour of pink amaranth flowers, but that outfit… Well, let's just say if Ichigo ever caught Nelliel sporting such _revealing_ attire, he would make damn sure Grimmjow kept good on his promise to lock her up in the attic until she was at least thirty. With a pair of form fitting white shorts barely long enough to cover the girl's posterior, thigh high, fur lined boots and a very short, very _open_, sleeveless white jacket covering little more than a maturing bust, the child looked like a working girl!

"Well, well," the female scoffed, slowing to a stop beside Ichigo and Nelliel. "I see that sleeping beauty is finally awake. About fuckin' time, too."

Okay, maybe they should revise Nelliel's sentence to thirty-five…

Ichigo didn't know whether to be more appalled at the girl's loutish vocabulary, or her scantily clad attire advertising way too much creamy virginal skin. Ichigo didn't even _want_ to know how that flimsy excuse for a jacket managed to adhere to the right places.

"Oi, watch your language," Ichigo chided before he could stop himself, only just managing to stop himself short of covering Nelliel's ears. "And I wasn't asleep for that long! It can't be any later than nine o'clock, for crying out loud."

"I wasn't talkin' to _you_, princess," the young girl clarified in a bored manner, resting a hand on her cocked hip as she jammed her thumb in Starrk's general direction. "I was talkin' to _him_. Oi!" she bellowed, stomping over to the lounging Primera and delivering a devastating kick to his ribs. To Starrk's credit, aside from a harsh wheeze, he barely acknowledged the blow, inclining Ichigo to believe that he was probably accustomed to this sort of treatment. "Wakey wakey, _papá_! If ya don't get your ass up in the next five seconds, then am'a beat ya into a coma and you can sleep all damn day, every day!"

Ichigo felt his eyebrows rise toward his hairline, torn between helping out the defenceless Espada and shielding his precious little one from such mindless violence. And then it hit him.

"Wait, _'papá'_? So that means…"

"Mhm!" Nelliel supplied, giving a vigorous nod. "That's Lilynette, she's _tío_ Starrk's _hija_, his daughter."

"Ahh, now it all makes sense. I guess I'll leave him to it then." Ichigo gently set Nelliel on her feet, before something clicked and he paused, tilting his head down to look at his Apple. "Nel? Did you just… Can you speak _Spanish_?"

"Of course!" Nelliel stated like it should be obvious, and Ichigo was an idiot for even asking. "I don't know as much as Pa or _tío _or Lily, but I know a little. Pa taught me some so I would quit buggin' him when I got confused, but he always said I didn't need to worry because we were gonna go live in America and leave all them illtre… uh, illita…"

"Illiterate?" Ichigo guessed, trying to prompt the girl along.

"Yes!" Nelliel confirmed with a dazzling smile. "He said we would leave all them damn illitrate spics in the dust!"

"Nelliel Tu Jaegerjaques!" Ichigo exclaimed, horrified but not entirely surprised that such racial slur came from a budding young lady. _Goddamn you, Grimmjow!_ "First off, it's illiterate; ih-lit-er-it. And secondly, you shouldn't ever belittle someone because of where they come from. I thought I taught you better than that? How many times do I have to tell you _never_ to repeat anything that your father says? You'll die an old spinster if you keep that up…"

"Sorry," Nelliel mumbled as she attached herself to Ichigo's side, her tiny fists balling up in his shirt and her face nuzzling into his hip. "I'll never say it again, I promise."

Ichigo heaved a despairing sigh as he ruffled the small child's hair, glancing down to find wheaten orbs shining up at him and thick black lashes batting prettily against cherub rosy cheeks. Aw, who the hell was he kidding? Nelliel could commit the most heinous of crimes, could trudge home covered in blood and boasting about how she'd ripped a man's still beating heart from his chest (something Grimmjow had strongly encouraged should any young lothario try getting fresh), and he'd still think of her as his innocent little angel who couldn't possibly do any wrong.

"Apology accepted," Ichigo conceded, shaking his head at his own accursed weakness. "Just… try and be more considerate of others' feelings in the future, yeah?"

"I will," Nelliel vowed, nodding earnestly. "I'll make you proud of me, Itsy-Pa. Just you wait and see!"

Heart swelling with warmth, Ichigo flashed the girl a winning grin and hugged her close to his side. Little did she know, he was already immensely proud of her; he and Grimmjow both were. When you consider how she grew up, exposed to the kinds of horrors that would make even the most hardened of grown men blanch, it was something akin to a miracle that she remained so sweet and pure. She was without a doubt Grimmjow's greatest accomplishment.

"Yo! If you two are done havin' your precious 'moment', then lets move out!" Lilynette groused, her small fists balled up on her hips. "I'm starved, and this lazy oaf is gonna catch us some breakfast, ne _papi_?"

Starrk, now on his feet and looking none too happy about the fact, gave a shamelessly fake smile. "_Sí_, of course my little _muñeca_."

"Who're ya callin' 'doll', ya perverted old _cabra_!" Lilynette hissed, bearing her teeth like a feral cat. "I ain't no baby! I'm almost thirteen!"

Ichigo felt his jaw drop. The girl was only _twelve_ and already she cursed and dressed like _that_? Heaven help them all when Nelliel entered her rebellious teen years… Locking her away until she was forty was sounding like a much better plan by the second.

Storming past Ichigo like the petulant child she was supposed to be, though not before she snatched up Nelliel's wrist and dragged her along, Lilynette stomped her way back toward the forest. Ichigo stared wordlessly after them, Nelliel offering a helpless shrug before trotting alongside her friend, trying to keep herself from tripping over her own two feet.

"Here." Ichigo jumped out of skin when Starrk spoke directly by his ear, whirling round to find the brunette smothering a chuckle behind the guise of a feeble cough. "I thought you might like these."

Ichigo pondered on when exactly Starrk had the time to fetch his brown leather boots, but thought better of asking and instead busied himself with pulling them on. In his haste to catch up to the girls, Ichigo choose to remain standing and subsequently lost his balance when trying to tug on the right boot. Cursing, he teetered precariously, bracing himself for a graceless – and embarrassing – fall, only to find himself caught mere centimeters from hitting the dirt face first. With one strong arm hooked under his armpit, and another wrapped firmly about his waist, Ichigo was deftly hauled back upright.

"Uh… th-thanks," Ichigo choked out, a faint dusting of pink colouring the bridge of his nose.

Although the sight was exceedingly cute, Starrk chose not to comment. He would be spending an undetermined amount of time with the foxy orangette, and there would be no sense in creating an uncomfortable or awkward environment for either one of them.

"_De nada_, _niño_," he said instead, his tone intentionally nonchalant as he headed in the general direction the two young maidens had disappeared. "Come along. Don't you know it's rude to keep _una señorita_ waiting?"

The Primera let a humble smirk curl one side of his mouth as he heard Ichigo cuss under his breath, no doubt hurrying to yank his uncooperative footwear on and keep up pace. Huffing when he finally caught up, Starrk watched inconspicuously as the orangette brushed tangerine bangs out of eyes before stuffing his hands into his back pockets. His brother Grimmjow had certainly done well for himself, better than anyone could've ever imagined. The thought made him irrevocably jealous, it's true, but at the same time he couldn't begrudge the former Sexta. He was genuinely happy for him.

"So, uh… your daughter…" Ichigo began hesitantly, wanting to fill the silence before it festered and conversation dried up completely. "She seems like a handful."

"Maa, she's simply spirited. Too much energy and too little hours in the day to expend it. She gets it from her mother, I suppose."

"That's hardly surprising," Ichigo quipped good naturedly, grinning devilishly. Now _this_ Starrk, Starrk the father and not the murderous Espada, he could get along with. "Though I can only imagine that she didn't pick up any of that foul language from her mother, ne?" Starrk grinned but didn't elaborate, leaving Ichigo to conclude that he was, in fact, correct. With a triumphant nod not only to the fact that he was right, but that he was finally getting some answers out of the exasperatingly taciturn brunette, Ichigo decided to push his luck. "So, where is she? Lilynette's mother, I mean. Is she a member of the Espada? Are the two of you married?"

Ichigo didn't miss the faraway look that clouded those stormy eyes, nor the tender smile that graced the man's thin lips, and immediately felt like a heartless prick. Raising his hand for reasons that evaded his own grasp – what was he going to do? Give the man a pathetic pat on the back? Squeeze his shoulder? – he quickly dropped his arm back down to his side, offering the brunette a sympathetic tight-lipped smile instead.

"I'm so sorry, Starrk. I had no idea."

"_No te preocupes_, Ichigo," Starrk assured the boy even when the bitter sting of his loss lacerated his still broken heart. "You couldn't have known."

Ichigo rubbed guiltily at the back of his neck. "Doesn't stop me from feeling like a total asshole for bringing it up, though."

"It's okay, really. I like to talk about her. It makes her feel more tangible; like I'm remembering the woman and not the shadow of her memory."

Ichigo inclined his head, his features alight with compassion as he encouraged the Primera to continue. Starrk tipped his head back as they ambled through the woods, his face dotted with what few rays of light were able to penetrate the dense canopy of leaves overhead and his thumbs tucked neatly into the waistband of his trousers. It really was a pleasant morning; almost perfect for reminiscing, he mused.

"Her name was Tier Harribel, and we first met when we were barely fifteen years old. Even then she was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon; exotic mocha skin, bright golden hair, and intelligent green eyes that sparkled like diamonds in the sun… It was love at first sight, _amigo_."

Ichigo chuckled. Yeah, he knew exactly how that went. The instant connection, the warmth and lust and yearning that came from a simple glance or fleeting touch, the indescribable longing to have and to hold that one person in your arms and never ever let them go again…

It was everything he'd felt with Grimmjow.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Bureau of Investigation<strong>_

_**Blackwater, West Elizabeth**_

Kisuke Urahara was having a relatively pleasant morning. The sun was making a steady ascent into the crystalline blue skies, birds could be heard chirping merry songs from the open window situated behind him, and, despite the fact that it was fast approaching nine o'clock, he had yet to be bothered by a single employee.

Oh, yes. Life was surely good…

"You there! Tell me where the Director is, right now, or I swear to the Almighty above I will waste this worthless whore where she stands!"

…Hmm. So much for that then.

Heaving a long winded sigh, Kisuke lowered his feet from their resting place on his desk and begrudgingly heaved himself out of his comfortable chair. Carding a hand through his pale blonde hair and pulling at the lapels of his charcoal waistcoat to straighten any unseemly creases, he plucked up his mandatory black felt bowler hat and popped it on as he casually strolled toward the door in order to address the unwarranted commotion. Stepping out of his office with an air of unflappable confidence, smoky grey eyes made a quick sweep of the general vicinity before homing in on the main threat; a riled up gunslinger with a shock of blue hair and a deadly pistol held against the temple of the timid office assistant, Nanao Ise.

"Yare, yare," Kisuke complained, his hands lazily tucked into the pockets of his matching charcoal slacks. "You sure know how to make a grand entrance, friend."

Grimmjow growled, sapphire eyes narrowing as he wrapped his arm tighter about his hostage's neck, the frightened woman whimpering when the barrel of his gun pressed harder against her head.

"Trust me, _pal_," he sneered, sharp canines flashing with a predatory gleam, "you ain't seen nuthin' yet. Now why don't ya go and fetch your boss, there's a good boy. Otherwise I'll put a hole in yer hillbilly head and watch yer tiny brain drain out."

"My boss? Aa, you mean the Director, yes?" Kisuke tried to distract the man with casual conversation in order to sneak a few paces closer, but the blunette proved a lot sharper than the usual brand of thug he was used to dealing with and was instantly on his case, taking a guarded step back and warning him off with a vicious snarl. Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Kisuke quirked his lips into a judicious grin and halted in his tracks. "The Director is understandably a very busy man. I trust you made an appointment?"

"What, and end up waitin' a week just to be told it 'wasn't possible at this time'? I don't fuckin' think so." With time bearing down on his shoulders, Grimmjow levelled the droll blonde with a dark glare. "If ya don't know where he is, then I suggest ya get a move on before I put ya six feet under fer wastin' my time."

"Oh, believe me, I would love to heed your recommendation and take the rest of the day off…" Kisuke scratched at his stubbled chin, giving Grimmjow a look of mock contemplation. "Maa, but then that would make all of my hard working employees upset. I mean, what kind of example would it be setting if the chief and commander of the Bureau left before anybody else? So you see, what you're asking is simply ludicrous."

Grimmjow arched a sceptical brow. _Chief and commander?_ Surely he wasn' implying…

"Hold up. So yer sayin' that _you're_ the Director?"

Kisuke inclined his head in the affirmative. "That is correct."

"You?" Grimmjow repeated, his look of disbelief growing rather than fading. With that shaggy blonde hair, tall lean build and laid-back attitude, the man seemed more like some surfer reject than the head of a federal body! The weirdo _had_ to be yanking his chain… "That's it! No more games!" Cocking his colt to show that he meant business, Grimmjow glared dangerously at the blonde. "I wanna talk to the guy in charge, right this fucking second, or the bitch gets it!"

Nanao whimpered in fear at the spine-chilling double 'click' of the lethal weapon, her heart pumping ice water through her veins and tears welling in the corners of her eyes as the daunting prospect that the next few breaths may be her last crossed her mind. The pitiable sound of distress didn't go unnoticed by Kisuke, who kept a vigil eye on the irate blunette obviously driven to his limits. How the man had come to such a perilous edge, Kisuke had no idea, but one thing was for certain; he had better tread carefully or risk the callous murder of an innocent young maiden. Such an atrocity was absolutely _not_ an option.

Realising they had entered a tense and potentially catastrophic standoff, Kisuke kept his pose deliberately calm and collected, though the tight pinching around his eyes belied his true countenance.

"There's no need for this to turn into mindless bloodbath," Kisuke tentatively suggested, remaining perfectly still so as not to startle the man into any less than savoury actions. He would not have the death of a loyal acquaintance forever lingering on his conscious. Nobody would die this day, not on his watch. "Why don't you release young Miss Ise, nice and slow, and we can talk about whatever it is that's ailing you in my office. Does that sound fair?"

"Oi, _I'm_ the one with the hostage here, so I reckon I'll be the one makin' the demands," Grimmjow growled in response, demonstrating his claim by flexing his bicep so that Nanao choked for air through severely restricted airways. Kisuke twitched, albeit diminutively, and Grimmjow gave a razor sharp smirk. "Good, now that I have your undivided attention, how's about ya stop dickin' me around and go get Kisuke Urahara so that I can get back on the road? Does _that_ sound fair?"

Kisuke tried his damnedest, he truly did, but he just couldn't suppress the mirthful chuckle that bubbled up in his chest from slipping past his lips. This whole situation was completely absurd.

Grimmjow on the other hand, took immediate offence to the jovial laughter and promptly responded with a daring step forward, dragging the fretful Nanao along with him. "Don't test my patience, or my leniency," he warned in sinister tones. "For ya'll find that I have very little of either…"

Movement just behind and to the right of Grimmjow caught Kisuke's keen hawk-like attention, though he meticulously kept his gaze locked on those turbulent pools of cerulean. Feeling insurmountably bolder given the fortunate turn of events, the blonde-haired man allowed a cool smile to tilt his lips.

"I must admit that I'm still at a total loss as to what's going on, which puts a sizeable dent in my status of apparent genius," he began, his posture taking on a carefree slouch as he calmly regarded the cagey blunette. "But I can guarantee you, friend; if you pull that trigger you _will_ die before you ever feel the blood splatter upon your face."

That made Grimmjow snort. "Oh yeah? An' who says ya'll live long enough to even draw yer weapon, hotshot?"

"I have no need to draw my weapon," Kisuke stated assuredly, going as far as to clasp his hands behind his back to illustrate the fact. "Other than the ones it will require in order to say 'I told you so', I won't have to move a single muscle."

This time Grimmjow gave a bark of incredulous laughter. This guy was a fucking hoot! "Ya high or somethin', partner? Heh, no matter. If yer too chickenshit to face me, then that's yer funeral."

Whipping Nanao round to his side, Grimmjow trained the sights of his colt on the blonde instead. With a feral glint in his eye, he gave a cold glare and muttered, "I was kind'a hopin' we could avoid this, but ya've left me no other choice…"

Kisuke merely grinned, making no move to defend himself or even hint that he was bluffing by reaching for the Mauser pistol holstered in plain sight at his side. Grimmjow frowned, having never met anybody so confident in themselves – or possibly so insanely brainless.

Figuring the man would soon change his tune when a .32 round severed tissue and tore through bone, Grimmjow paid the lunatic no mind and took aim, aspiring for little more than a warning flesh wound in the shoulder, something to help loosen the man's tongue…

His plan backfired somewhat horribly, however, when he felt the cold, hard steel of a gun suddenly kiss the back of his skull.

"_What_," a distinctly female (and clearly livid) voice hissed from behind, "is with all the _racket_ out here?"

"Sincerest apologies, my little viper," Kisuke answered the newcomer, scratching at the nape of his neck with a timid smile. "I was just dealing with a disgruntled client."

"'Dealing with', my ass," the woman returned with scorn, jabbing the barrel of her gun tetchily against Grimmjow's head. "You there, scumbag; let the girl go before I lose my temper and _you_ lose your brain matter."

Gritting his teeth, Grimmjow released a calculated breath and slowly raised both arms, finally letting go of Nanao whilst simultaneously tilting his pistol up and away from its previously intended target. The trembling assistant crumbled to her knees, a choked sob of relief passing through her quivering lips as she looked to Kisuke with tear stained eyes and rouged cheeks.

"Go," he told her and immediately she gathered herself, not waiting around long enough to be told a second time.

With the immediate threat now under control, Kisuke felt the tension in the room drop like a palpable shift in the atmosphere and the rigidity that had set his marrow to stone melt away like the ebbing of a tide. A man of tremendous skill and prowess he may be, but that didn't make him bulletproof, and the safety of his associates and colleagues was paramount. When push came to shove, he would gladly forfeit his life for any one of them, but thanks in large to his most precious person that day would not be today.

Casting said woman a simpering grin, Kisuke announced in a bright and cheerful tone, "Ah, Yoruichi; light of my life, apple of my eye, not-yet-mother to our brood of rambunctious offspring… What impeccable timing you have, as always."

The female, a dark-skinned beauty with flowing purple hair and exotic golden eyes, raised a well groomed brow as she divested Grimmjow of his colt, tucking it safely down the back of her form hugging black leggings. "_Brood_? Do I look like a farm animal to you?"

Wiping out a Chinese styled fan from the confines of God only knows where, the blonde haired man waved it dismissively in her direction. "Of course not, my felicitous feline! I was merely speculating that, given my manly competence and your eternal feminine seductiveness, we will surely procreate in abundance."

This time it was Grimmjow's turn to cock a dubious (and somewhat disturbed) brow. "I ain't too savvy where the lasses and overly complex emotions are concerned… but even _I_ know that wasn't the response she was lookin' for."

All that astute observation earned him was a testy yank of the hair.

"That's quite enough out of you. The man may be a harebrained dimwit, but he's _my_ harebrained dimwit."

"Oi! I was defendin' ya, ya crazy bitch!" Grimmjow groused, reaching back to soothe his scalp only for Yoruichi to remind him of his perilous position with a none-too-subtle press of her pistol. He instantly froze in his actions and slowly raised his hands again.

"You're the reason I'm awake and cranky right now, so don't push your luck, _boy_," Yoruichi taunted with no small amount of antipathy. "I mean, seriously. Is it too much to ask for a lady to sleep off a raging hangover in peace these days?"

Despite his better judgement, Grimmjow felt the beginnings of a malicious smirk tugging at his lips. "Keh. It's hard to say. If ever I meet one, I'll be sure to let ya know…"

There were many different scenarios Grimmjow could envision for that particular crack; a hearty smack upside the head, a debilitating kick that would see him on his knees, a vicious pistol whipping… Of all the heinous and painful things he imagined, he certainly wasn't expecting what he got – a jaunty laugh and a slim, cocoa coloured arm slung around his neck.

"That's real cute comin' from a guy getting intimate with the business end of my full metal sweetheart," Yoruichi purred, flashing the blunette her patented wildcat grin as she levelled the barrel of her gun square with his temple. Glamorous golden eyes drooping to half mast, the saucy female gave her captive a long, appreciative onceover. "Mm, you know, for a boneheaded hooligan you ain't half bad… It's a shame you haven't got more goin' on upstairs, otherwise you'd have been the _whoooole_ package."

Grimmjow flashed a sharp toothed grin. When all else failed, he could always rely on his natural charisma to see him out of a tricky situation. _Like flies to honey_.

"Heh. What I lack upstairs I more than make up for downstairs, if ya catch my drift, darlin'."

"Is that so?" Yoruichi all but leered, stepping around the blunette for a more… comprehensive picture, though kept her wits about her and her pistol trained point blank at Grimmjow's forehead. "Oh my. It would seem that our Lord saw fit to make you more beast than man. Momma likes."

"Ya wanna see what I'm packin'?" Grimmjow suggested with a husky growl, cockily folding his arms behind his head. "Go right ahead, doll. I ain't shy."

Orbs of scintillating gold flashed with something purely primal as, being the salacious little minx that she was, Yoruichi seriously considered taking the gunslinger up on his tempting offer. Technically unavailable though she may be, that didn't mean she was impervious to the carnal charms of exceedingly handsome and virile young men. She still enjoyed a gander around the candy shop every now and then – and what a fine hunk of candy this particular specimen turned out to be.

"Ahem…"

Grimmjow startled at the loud and unexpected sound of a throat being cleared, all but forgetting the other presence still in the room, whereas Yoruichi simply clicked her tongue and backed off at the deliberate disruption. Cocking her hip in mild frustration, she glanced over her shoulder at her sandy-haired spouse and quirked an inquisitive brow.

"Not that I'm not absolutely thrilled with the direction in which this is headed, my feisty cougar," Kisuke started, hiding a knowing grin behind his fan, "but perhaps we should all head into my office, ne? See if we can't straighten out this paltry misunderstanding."

"Tch. Spoilsport." Grimmjow grumbled, finally feeling confident enough in his personal wellbeing to lower his arms to his sides. He knew of the illustrious Kisuke Urahara's reputation well enough to know that had the nutjob indeed wanted him dead then he'd have been reduced to a smear on the wall the second he set foot inside the building.

"Now, now. You shouldn't be so bold," Kisuke continued, the sharp, intelligent gleam in his eye shadowed by the brim of his bowler hat. "I would think that a man in your position would know better than to muscle in on another man's wife when you yourself are otherwise… engaged."

"Ha, no way! She's your _wife_? Ya got'a be shittin' me." Grimmjow's mind was struggling hard to comprehend how such a bland and peculiar man could possibly bag a hottie like the cocoa skinned vixen in front of him, when the subtle connotation behind Kisuke's seemingly innocent statement languidly sank in. "Wait a goddamn minute… how the fuck do _you_ know that I'm involved with anyone?"

Kisuke snapped his fan shut, showcasing a slick, lopsided grin. "Maa, my knowledge on many different aspects of your life may astound you… Grimmjow."

"How… You know my name?"

"I know an awful lot more than just your name…" Kisuke cryptically informed him, dropping all pretences and levelling Grimmjow with an intense steely gaze, "…former Sexta."

That one knocked Grimmjow for six, and for the first time in as long as he could remember he had no scathing retort to hit back with. With a delicate flick of the wrist, Kisuke armed himself once more with his trusty fan, covertly shielding a smug smirk at the younger man's abrupt speechlessness.

"Shall we convene?" he asked, sweeping an arm out toward the open doorway of his office. "I feel that you and I have much to discuss, and would rather do so away from prying eyes and sensitive ears."

Mouth working open and closed like a fish on land but producing no coherent sound, Grimmjow could only frown and dumbly follow where his feet lead; straight into the Director's waiting lair.

Kisuke's wily grey eyes trailed after the dumbstruck blunette, choosing to ignore the petty shouldering he received as they crossed paths, and cast a sidelong glance to Yoruichi as she pinned him under troubled golden pools.

"I hope you know what you're doing, my love," she implored, twirling strands of her cascading purple locks around the barrel of her gun as she approached. "My womanly intuition is tingling, and not in the good way. Whatever this is, it's gonna be big."

"You know me, my spunky little pussy cat," Kisuke hummed, settling a hand on the small of his bride's back. "I always have an ace or two hidden up my sleeve."

Yoruichi chuckled, lips twitching into a vivacious grin. "I'd be worried if you didn't…"

Delivering a reassuring (cheeky) pinch to Yoruichi's shapely peach-reminiscent behind, Kisuke gave a frisky wink to his merrily cackling better half before following her into the room and closing the door behind them with a soft yet somehow ominous _click_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN****:** Howdy y'all! So, this has been a long time comin', ne?

You know, I realised tonight tha' I take almost as long to proof read an' polish up a chapter as I do actually writin' the damn thing! How crazy is tha'? Does anybody else suffer such injustice? Sometimes I think am waaay too picky, an' spend too much time an' effort fixin' up every teeny detail... And yet I know when I come back an' read this at a later date I'll _still_ find glaring mistakes tha' make me cringe with disgust. Ulgh. So frustratin'!

But enough about all tha'...

This chapter was more of a transition than anythin' else, I suppose. I know nothing really happened, which is kind'a sucky, but hopefully this will set the stage nicely for the next instalment. I freaking _adore_ Kisuke an' Yoruichi, especially when they're together. They compliment each other so damn well, an' are so much fun to write it feels criminal. I hope y'all enjoyed their introduction into the mix as much as I enjoyed writin' it ^^ For those who know/play _Red Dead Redemption_, don' fret... I know tha' the government in RDR are the bad guys, but here in my rendition tha' is not the case (though am sure Grimm-yums would disagree). Ahaah~ How funny was Ichigo correctin' Nelly's enunciation before scolding her for bein' racist? Which I do not condone, jus' by the way. I simply figured tha' being raised by Grimmjow may incur the odd, ill-mannered bout of profanity? Come on, y'all know it's true! Oh, an' I rather abruptly killed off Baraggan and Zommari simply because I cannot think of an appropriate place to fit them in with the pace of the story. Not to mention I'm not particularly fond of either one of them. Sorry to any fans...

Next chapter will (should) bring to light Grimmjow's bargainin' chip against the Espada, as well as Kisuke's involvement in the proceedings, an' a deeper peek into Starrk's tragic past. I really love the guy, an' wanna make him a somewhat lasting fixture, so hence he will get a comprehensive background story. Can I get a "Yay, Primera!" from all'a y'all Coyote junkies?!

...No? Awh well. Am sure he was probably fast asleep anyways...

Well, I guess tha's all fer now, partners! As always, please do feel free to enjoy at yer own peril (:

Take care, and ciao for now

**Toringtino**

~**x**~


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